


The Better Angels of Our Nature

by AngelOfTheMoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Reunions, Slight Wing Kink, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2015, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfTheMoor/pseuds/AngelOfTheMoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the nation of Seraphim, angels rule society, and humans are second-class citizens. Mary Winchester acquires a position as Naomi Grace's maid, and her duties include babysitting fledgling Castiel. Growing up together, Castiel and Mary's older son Dean are inseparable. But when the boys are sixteen, their friendship comes to an abrupt end.</p><p>Ten years later, Castiel and Dean meet again in an army contingent sent to put down a group of human rebels. They rekindle their friendship. But not all is as it seems, and their world will change forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I--Mary's Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ doesn't belong to me.
> 
> The first part covers Cas and Dean growing up together, just giving some snippets and glimpses from Mary's POV. The bulk of the action takes place in the second part, which alternates between Dean's and Cas's POV. The title comes from Abraham Lincoln's first inaugural address.
> 
> Warnings for minor character death, torture, violence, mention of self-harm, and brief sexual content.
> 
> Thanks to burdenedbones who provided the original art as well as the other art, title card, and dividers included here. (All of which are amazing!) You can find the art masterpost [here](http://burdenedbones.livejournal.com/3602.html). The picture in the first chapter is the original prompt. Thanks also to consultingcas for beta-ing this for me. And thanks to both individuals for being a sounding board and giving me pep talks! Finally, thanks to the SPN Reverse Bang mods for maintaining the community.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are welcome and much appreciated!

It’s lucky that Mary snagged the job. John’s occupation in munitions had vanished when Seraphim’s president, Michael Archer, had finally ended the decade-long war with Lucifer. Both kingdoms had agreed to respect the designated land boundaries, and just like that, peace at last. But massive unemployment soon followed peace: most of the army disbanded, rendering soldiers shiftless, and those who worked in weapon manufacture, like John, jobless.

So Mary had joined John in the hunt for work, both praying that at least one of them could find _something_. Especially with the baby due in only two months.

Which gave Mary slim odds for employment.

She’d expected nothing from Naomi Grace, the angel council member who’d placed an ad for a daytime nanny and nurse. Her husband Inias had died in the last battle shortly before her infant son Castiel was born, leaving her alone. With all her council duties, she desperately needed help.

“Can you start tomorrow?” Naomi asked Mary after the short interview.

“Yes,” Mary answered, surprised.

“You’re hired.”

Mary gawked at her. “Seriously? Even with this?” She gestured at her swollen belly.

Naomi blinked before offering a reassuring smile. “Yes.”

“But you must know I will request time off soon.”

Naomi shrugged. “It is of no matter. We’ll make arrangements. You’re very maternal; I can tell. You’ll be perfect for little Castiel.”

“Thank you.”

During her first week at the Grace mansion, Mary closely observes her new charge. Castiel is a good baby, quiet and curious. But she worries about him. She cannot take her eyes off of him for a second. He’s inclined to put everything in his mouth. He presses his chubby hands against sharp surfaces; then his face scrunches up in pain. He never cries, though, which makes her uneasy. Still, she discovers that he craves comfort all the same. After she hugs and rocks him, the barely perceptible tremble in his frame stills.

He has nothing to play with. Surely he should have at least one toy.

One morning, she brings him a gift: a stuffed bee. She smiles down at him in the cradle and places the bee beside him.

“What is that?” Naomi asks, traipsing by to check on Castiel one last time before she heads off to City Hall, purple wings, the ones that designated her as part of the governing class, already poised for flight behind her.

“I thought Castiel might like it.”

Naomi frowns. “I forgot. This is one of those differences between angel and human culture.”

Oh. Mary has never given much thought to that. She knows that humans and angels are different, of course. The angels hold the elite positions, rule the city and the nation. They’re the only ones who can stave off the ambitions of rogue angels like Lucifer, after all. Angels are much more capable than humans: stronger, smarter, quicker. They can fly. That is why humans take direction from them, why they’re relegated to menial duties such as babysitting and low-level labor work. She knows this, but she’d believed angels and humans were pretty similar for the most part, even if relationships never crossed the angel-human boundary.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” Mary manages. She’s about to reach for the bee when Castiel rolls over in his sleep and clutches the stuffed animal tightly, his blonde wings fluttering as if to convey delight. Mary restrains her urge to laugh; Naomi would not appreciate it.

Naomi sighs. “I suppose there’s no harm in letting him keep it. Good-bye, Mary.”

“Bye,” Mary calls after her as she leaves the room.

Mary beams down at the angel and his bee. “You love him, don’t you?” Castiel’s wings twitch. She imagines it’s his way of saying yes, even if he probably can’t hear her in his sleep.

Soon after Dean is born, John finds a job at last, working in a smithy. His boss is a grumpy man named Bobby Singer (though Mary suspects he’s secretly a softie underneath all his bluster).

Naomi gives her a month off and promises she can keep her job, which is generous. Most other angel bosses would give her one week at the most. Angel mothers take only one week for themselves, so they see anything more as excessive.

Naomi also lets Mary bring Dean with her to the house so that she can look after him while working. Yet another concession most angels wouldn’t allow, and she’s grateful.

While Castiel is quiet, Dean is boisterous. He cries and yells. Castiel studies him with his wide blue eyes, wary, as if Dean is a puzzle he cannot put together. Oh, dear. If they’re going to be so different, maybe she’s in for a world of trouble.

But when she lays them both in the crib for nap time, rather than hugging the bee to his chest as usual, Castiel flings his arm out, grasping the bee with the tips of his fingers. Dean crawls up to Castiel, lays his head on Castiel’s chest, and shuts his eyes. Castiel closes his eyes soon after, and they fall into a peaceful sleep.

By the end of the day, they’re fast friends, somehow communicating on a level beyond words.

Dean’s first word is “Mama.”

John is disappointed when he learns Dean’s second word is “Cas.” It’s not John’s fault, though. Dean spends more time with Mary and Castiel than he does with John. She hopes John isn’t too hurt.

Angels develop their faculties more quickly than humans. By his first birthday, Castiel has already mastered the words “Mama,” “Mary,” “Dean,” and a few dozen others. He tries to speak with Dean all the time and looks confused when all Dean can do is babble nonsense back.

When Dean is twenty months old and stumbling over his words, Castiel watches with interest. “Mama,” Dean coos when Mary picks him up.

“No. Mary,” Castiel protests.

Mary smiles. “No. Mama.” Castiel wrinkles his brow. “Not your mama. Dean’s mama.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, attempting to process the fact that he and Dean have different mothers.

Dean blows a raspberry down at Castiel and stares at him. “C . . . Ca . . . Ca . . . as . . . t . . . l.”

“Castiel,” the angel corrects.

“Ca . . . s . . . t . . . l.”

“Castiel.”

“Cas . . . t . . . t . . . l.”

“How about we just call him Cas?” Mary suggests. Dean can pronounce that one syllable at least.

Castiel shakes his head. “No. ’M Castiel.”

“I don’t think Dean can say that yet.”

“Cas!” Dean shouts.

Cas nods, grinning. “’Kay. ’M Cas.”

Not long after Dean turns four, Mary takes another month off when her second son arrives. She names him Sam after her father, just as she had named Dean after her mother. She’d wanted to give John more say in the names, but John had just grunted that what she wanted would be fine.

She returns to the Grace residence with both Dean and Sam in tow. After she feeds all three boys breakfast, Cas and Dean rush into the living room. Mary sets baby Sam on the rug near them and takes a seat on the couch, primed for supervision.

“Who’s that?” Cas asks, studying Sam.

“’E’s Sammy,” Dean replies.

“What’s he doing here?”

“’E’s my brother.”

Cas frowns. “Oh.”

“What d’ya wanna play, Cas?” Dean asks.

Cas looks thoughtful for a minute before he answers. “Hide ’n seek?”

Dean glances at Sam. “I don’t fink Sammy can play that yet.”

Cas crinkles his nose in contemplation. “Tag?”

Dean shakes his head vehemently. “’E can’t walk yet.”

Cas grimaces. “Sammy’s boring.”

“No, he’s not!” Dean objects.

“But he can’t do anything.”

“Sure he can.” He turns to Sam. “Sammy. Wanna play?” Sam just stares at his older brother. “Wanna hear a story?” Drool dribbles down Sam’s chin. Mary reaches down to pick him up and wipes off the spittle. “Mom, can you tell us a story?” He whips around to face Cas. “Mom tells the bestest stories.” Cas nods vigorously. “Sammy likes them.” Sam coos as if in agreement. “Mom, can you tell us a story? Please?”

“All right.” Mary searches her mind for a classic tale she hasn’t told them yet. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess.”

“Ew, is this a love story?” Dean interjects.

“A little.”

“Those are for girls!”

“I like love stories,” Cas says softly.

“It’s not _just_ a love story,” Mary points out. “So, this beautiful princess. She was kind and good and smart. She was also the best sword fighter in the land.”

“A _girl_? No way!” Dean exclaims.

“Some of the best warriors were girls,” Cas points out.

“Oh.”

“So this girl—” Mary begins.

“Does she have a name?” Cas asks.

“Hmm.” Good question. Mary doesn’t remember. Perhaps she never had a name. That would be disturbing. “We’ll call her Hannah.”

“So she doesn’t have a name.”

Mary smiles. “She does now. So Hannah. A rival prince named Gadreel tried to take her kingdom. Her army beat his, so he turned to sorcery to get what he wanted.”

“Sorcery? What’s that?” Dean inquires.

“Magic,” Cas explains.

“Yes, Gadreel used magic. He tried to put her in a never-ending sleep. He poured the potion in her drink, but she knew something was up when he invited her to dinner. She switched their drinks when he looked away, and so he was the one who fell into a never-ending sleep.

“Since she was good and kind, Hannah looked for a way to break the spell.”

“Why? He tried to kill her,” Dean protests.

“Because she’s good,” Cas repeats. “Just because Gadreel is a bad guy doesn’t mean he should be hurt.”

“That’s right, Cas,” Mary agrees. “That’s what Hannah believed. She searched across all the lands until she found the cure. It was a magical drink at the top of the world’s tallest mountain. She went to the top of the mountain.”

“Is she an angel or a human?” Cas asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Can she be an angel?”

“But then she wouldn’t have to climb the mountain,” Dean argues.

“Well, the story never said she _climbed_ it. Maybe she flew,” Mary suggests.

“But that’s too easy!”

“Flying is hard,” Cas claims. “That’s what Mama says.”

“But she flies to work every day.”

“That’s not far away. But the top of a mountain is, and that’s hard.”

“’Kay.”

“She got the drink at the top of the mountain and returned to Gadreel’s kingdom. She poured it into his mouth, and he woke up. He fell in love with her, and after she spent some time with him, she was in love, too. They got married and—”

“But he tried to kill her!” Dean shouts.

“Yes. But he was sorry, and she forgave him. He gave his kingdom to her, and she was a wise and fair ruler. They had a boy and a girl and lived happily ever after.”

“Was Gadreel an angel, too?” Cas asks.

“Would you like him to be?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then he was.”

“I wanna hear a story about humans,” Dean demands.

Sam is falling asleep on her lap. “I think Sammy needs a nap. Maybe after I put him down.”

“’Kay.”

By the time Mary returns from placing Sam in the crib, Dean and Cas have crawled up onto the couch and nodded off. She grins down at them and savors the unexpected respite.

When Sam starts crawling, he explores every inch of the Grace house. One day, he shoves his hands into Cas’s wings, and Cas lets out an uncharacteristic yelp.

“Sammy!” Dean scolds. “Don’t do that!” Dean himself has never laid a finger on Cas’s wings. Even as an infant, he’d seemed to have an instinctive respect for them, a sense that they were off limits.

Sam giggles up at Dean and continues to tug at Cas’s feathers.

“Sammy!” Dean repeats. Mary is about to drag Sam away when Cas speaks up.

“It’s okay, Dean. He’s just curious.” Dean frowns, and Cas offers him a reassuring smile before turning to Sam. “What do you think, Sam?” Sam releases a raucous laugh, and Cas grins. “You like them?” Sam lays his head on one of Cas’s wings, and Dean glowers.

“Dean,” Cas says, “you wanna touch them?”

“It’s okay?” Dean responds. Cas nods. Dean approaches Cas gingerly, stretches out a hand, and freezes. Cas nods at him to continue, and Dean brushes a finger over one of the wings.

“It’s soft,” Dean observes.

“Yes.”

Dean strokes the feathers, tentative at first but gradually growing more daring. Cas relaxes under the touch. Sam gets bored after another minute and shuffles toward Mary. Dean, however, appears to be almost petting Cas now, entranced. A feather falls to the floor, and Dean gasps and pulls away.

“Sorry, Cas. I hurt you.”

“It didn’t hurt, Dean.”

Dean picks up the feather and tries to put it back. His eyes water when the effort fails. “I can’t fix it!” he sobs.

“It’s okay, Dean. They fall out sometimes.” He gazes at Dean with bright eyes. “You can keep it.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wow! I’m gonna keep it forever and ever and ever.” He gives the feather to Mary, and she braces Sam in her left arm so she can accept it with her right hand. “Can you take care of it ’til we get home, Mom? I don’t want to break it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Mary agrees. She stands up and sets the dozing Sam in the crib. She admires the fine, smooth texture before putting it in her purse.

As soon as they get home, Dean begs her for the feather. She acquiesces, and he dashes to his room with the feather gripped tightly in one chubby hand. Mary follows him and notes how reverently he places the feather on top of his dresser.

Once every couple of months, Naomi invites Mary, John, Dean, and Sam over for dinner. It’s supposed to be a gesture of good will, but John complains that it’s condescending, like when slavery used to be legal two hundred years ago and the angel masters treated humans with paternal benevolence. They can’t afford to turn Naomi down, though. John doesn’t make much money, and Naomi pays Mary generously, considering that she’s just a babysitter and maid.

Now, supper has long been over, and the children have fallen asleep. Mary and John are indulging in a glass of wine with Naomi before they rouse Sam and Dean and head home.

“Castiel and Dean will be starting school soon,” Naomi observes as she sips her wine.

“Yes,” Mary replies. “I know Castiel can’t wait.” She has addressed the boy as “Cas” since Dean learned how to talk, but she knows better than to use the nickname in Naomi’s presence. Naomi doesn’t believe in overt displays of affection. Working with her, Mary has discovered that humans and angels conceive of love in different ways. Humans like to demonstrate their love through gestures and warmth, whereas angels think such displays eventually lead to weakness. They also don’t believe in varying shades of love: to them, love is universal, a duty you feel toward everyone in the world in equal measure. It means primarily obeying and respecting those placed above you, placing an emphasis on moral and rational decisions while ignoring emotions.

Sometimes it seems as if angels lack emotion altogether.

But Cas certainly doesn’t lack emotion. He might not be as expressive as Dean, but Mary has learned how to read his little tells.

Maybe it’s something they outgrow?

Or is it trained out of them?

Sometimes, she wonders.

“He likes to learn,” Mary continues, reflecting on the insatiable curiosity Cas was no doubt born with.

“Yes,” Naomi murmurs.

“Dean will be sad, though. Castiel, too, I think. In some ways.” In response, Naomi tilts her head, a mechanical version of one of Cas’s signature behaviors. Mary continues, “They’ll miss spending so much time with each other.”

Naomi waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, they’ll have to get over that.” She pauses to swallow some wine. “They can’t stay glued together forever. They’ll have to say good-bye to each other eventually.”

“Why?” John asks, voice a little too sharp. Mary understands the sentiment, and she agrees. Why can’t the boys stay friends for life? But they can’t afford to offend Naomi.

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Isn’t an obvious? A human and an angel? They’re hardly on par with each other.”

“What are you saying? That you angel dicks are better than humans?”

“John!” Mary exclaims.

“No one thinks that,” Naomi counters. “It’s just that they have different roles to play.”

“Why? I don’t see what’s so different. Besides the wings, of course. A few variations in biology. But here.” John taps his temple. “We’re similar. I don’t get why humans and angels can’t go to the same schools and learn the same things.”

“You don’t know what we angels learn. Your brains couldn’t comprehend it.”

John scoffs, and Mary glares a warning at him. “Have you ever even tried to teach any humans some of your angel stuff?” he hurls

“What, like flying? We all know humans cannot do that.”

John rolls his eyes. “No, I mean the same concepts. Mental things.”

“Why should we? Things are fine the way they are.”

Mary finishes off her wine and places her glass on the coffee table. “Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Naomi,” she cuts in. “It’s late. We should probably be getting home.”

Naomi pastes on an antiseptic smile. “Of course.”

“John, will you get Sam and Dean?” They’re both asleep in the guest bedroom.

“Sure, Mary,” John replies as he stands up.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about him,” Mary tells Naomi after John has left the room. She doesn’t disagree with John, but they can’t afford for Naomi to resent them. Not only does she provide them with much of their income, but she is one of the town leaders. She wishes John possessed more tact.

“Oh, it’s just a bunch of bluster,” Naomi responds. “There’s no harm in talk.”

Mary grins. “Thanks for understanding.”

John returns to the living room with a dozing Sam in the crook of one arm and his other hand clinging to a sleepy Dean’s.

Mary stands up. “Bye, Naomi. See you tomorrow.”

“Good-bye, Mary.”

At home, after they put Sam and Dean to bed, Mary reminds John to watch his tongue when they’re at Naomi’s. He promises to behave from now on, but she knows it’s only a matter of time before he breaks his word. Sometimes, he feels so strongly about his opinions that he can’t hold them in.

Before she picks up Cas at the Grace residence, Mary takes Dean to school for his first day.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” she asks. “Nervous about the first day?”

“No,” Dean mumbles. She waits for him to provide the answer. His innocent green eyes meet hers. “Why can’t Cas ’n me go to the same school?”

Mary’s heart clenches at the sadness in her son’s voice. “I told you, Dean. He’s an angel.”

Dean furrows his brow. The serious look would be endearing if it didn’t stem from disappointment. “So? Who says angels and humans can’t go to the same school?”

Mary sighs. She sees his point, but she can’t encourage his line of thinking. Angels are known for harshly punishing dissenters. “It’s just the way it is.”

“That’s stupid.”

“What have I said about that word?” Mary replies firmly.

“Sorry.” He gazes up at her defiantly. “But it is.”

Mary sighs again. “You’ll understand why someday.” She picks Sam up from the seat beside her and steps out of the wagon. Dean follows. At the door, she kisses her oldest son on the cheek and urges him to enjoy his first day of kindergarten.

As soon as Mary arrives at the Grace residence, Naomi flies off to work. Angels don’t learn how to fly until their teens, and Naomi says that flying alone is taxing enough, so Mary’s duties will now include escorting Cas to school.

After Cas sits down next to her in the wagon, Mary notices that he’s on the verge of tears. “Cas, honey, what’s wrong?” she asks.

“I don’t want to go to school,” Cas sniffs.

“But I thought you couldn’t wait to learn?”

Cas nods. “Yes. But . . . I don’t want to go without Dean.”

“Angels and humans—”

“Yes, we are different; Mother has told me a million times. I still don’t understand why we can’t go to the same school.”

Mary shrugs. “That’s just the way it is.”

“I won’t know anyone there,” Cas frets.

Mary smiles reassuringly. “So you’ll make new friends. That’ll be good.”

“No. Dean’s the only kid who likes me.”

“What?” Where would Cas get that idea?

“When Mother takes me to her friends’ houses, and their kids are there . . . they laugh at me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” She pulls Cas into a hug. “They’ll like you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

It turns out Mary had lied to her charge. Even after they’ve been attending school for a while, Dean remains Cas’s only friend. Dean makes other friends at school, but he still prefers Cas’s company over anyone else’s.

Cas scowls at the piece of paper on the kitchen table in front of him. “I don’t understand this math problem,” he grumbles.

“You think I’ll get it if you don’t?” Dean replies from his spot next to Cas. “You angels are, like, a gajillion grades higher than us.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

“Can I see?” Sam interjects as he passes into the kitchen from the living room.

If a ten-year-old angel is frustrated by the problem, how would a six-year-old human be able to solve it? Mary doesn’t want to hurt Sam’s feelings, but he probably shouldn’t bother. “Honey—” she begins.

Sam snatches Cas’s sheet from the table, squints at it, and grins. “Oh, I know what to do.” He proceeds to explain some elaborate process to Cas, who tries it out.

“Thanks, Sam! That worked!” Cas expresses.

“’Welcome.”

“Sam, don’t you have your own homework to do?’ Mary cuts in.

“Done. It was easy.”

Hmm. Seems like Sam could do with more advanced lessons. Too bad there are no options for that, Mary reflects as she boils a pot of noodles for the Graces’ dinner.

The loud knock on the door startles Mary. She puts down the book she’s been reading and glances at her watch. It’s almost midnight. Where is John? She’s been waiting up for him.

She heads toward the front door. When she swings it open, she’s greeted by the sight of two male angels, their black wings fully extended. The color designates them as part of the warrior class, but ever since the truce with Lucifer was signed over twelve years ago, there has been no need for soldiers. Which means these angels are the police.

“Can I help you?” Mary asks.

“Are you Mary Winchester?” the burly one inquires.

“Yes.”

“May we come in?”

She smiles nervously as she steps back. “Of course.”

Dean stumbles into the living room. “Mom, who is it?” he slurs while rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing for you to worry about, dear,” Mary tells him despite the sinking feeling in her gut. “Go back to bed.”

“But—”

“I said, go back to bed,” Mary repeats firmly.

“Okay.”

After Dean shuffles back to his room, Mary invites the angels to sit down. They perch on the sofa while she settles on the recliner. “What can I do for you gentlemen?” Mary asks.

“Are you the wife of John Winchester?” the thin one inquires.

Something is deeply wrong. She feels like she’s going to throw up. “Yes.”

“We have some bad news.”

“What? What is it?” Her eyes dart between the two angels.

“John Winchester died in police custody an hour ago,” the muscular one announces tonelessly.

She laughs uneasily. “This is a joke, right?”

“No,” the skinny one responds. “I’m sorry.”

“What was he doing in custody?” Mary demands.

“Please stay calm,” the burly angel urges.

“You want me to be fucking _calm_ when you’ve just told me my husband’s _dead_ —”

“We do not want to have to take you into custody as well.”

Mary gapes at them. Everything feels so unreal. “Why was John in custody?”

“He mouthed off to some angels in a pub,” the thin angel answers. “According to one of them, they were talking about how human education should be discontinued. John Winchester butted in and threw a punch.”

“What?” John dislikes—disliked, oh, God, she has to think of him in the past tense now—disliked angels and their hierarchy, their refusal to let Sam have an accelerated education, but he wasn’t _stupid_. He wouldn’t assault an angel, especially not when he was outnumbered.

“We’re told that he was unruly when they brought him into custody,” the larger angel continues. “The arresting officer was just defending himself.”

Seriously?! Angels are so much stronger than humans. They’d be able to subdue humans without resorting to deadly force. And she still doesn’t believe John was fighting in the first place.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” the thin angel pronounces in a monotone. “There will be an investigation, we assure you.”

She doesn’t understand how these two can speak about what happened to John so coldly, as if they are talking about nothing more significant than burned toast. It infuriates her, and she clenches her hands into fists.

But she restrains her anger, of course. The boys have already lost one parent tonight. She won’t give the angels a bullshit reason to kill her as well.

So she dons a tight smile and says, “Thank you.”

They release his body to her the next day. Later that week, she holds a small funeral, just herself, the boys, and Bobby. Toward the end, Naomi shows up with Cas and expresses her condolences, but Mary knows she doesn’t mean a damn word of it. Cas, on the other hand, appears truly stricken. He bursts into sobs, and under her breath, Naomi orders Cas to control himself. Mary, who’s a few feet away, is not meant to hear the words, but she does.

“I hate them, Mom,” Dean seethes during the drive back home.

“Hate who?” Mary replies.

“The angels. All of them.”

She’s shocked by the declaration. She doesn’t hate all of them, she thinks. Just the bastards with the black wings. And besides, “What about Cas?”

“He’s different. He has . . . feelings.”

There is an investigation, but it turns up nothing, of course. As if the angels will punish their own for murdering a human.

Mary takes Sam and Dean with her to Naomi’s house since their schools are closed for a professional development day. Dean settles with Sam in the living room while she waits for Cas to finish getting ready for school.

She waits for a longer time than usual. She’s just about to go knock on Cas’s door when he dashes into the kitchen, eyes brimming with tears.

“Cas, what’s wrong, sweetie?” Mary asks.

“I need you to cut them off. Please, Mary,” Cas cries.

She scrunches her brow in confusion. “Cut what off?”

“My wings!”

Now that he mentions them, Mary can’t see either of Cas’s wings; he must have them tightly tucked behind his back. “Why?”

“They’re the wrong color.”

So Cas’s wings have turned. She’d known it was coming; angels’ wings change their hue sometime during their thirteenth year. The wing color determines the rest of their lives—how they’ll be educated, what their function in society will be. From what little she’s seen, angels are usually well-suited for the roles they’re given.

She considers Cas for a moment. Now that his future has been determined, no doubt he has cold feet. She smiles at him and declares, “I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Let me see?”

Cas swallows before extending his wings, and she gasps before she can stop herself.

They’re jet black.

The color of the warrior class.

Cas has such a gentle disposition, and he loves to learn. She would’ve guessed they’d be blue, the color of the scholar class.

A warrior is the last thing she’d thought he would be.

As far as she’s concerned, the warriors are the worst angels. They’re the ones who killed John and did nothing to give him justice. They’re the ones who intimidate and glare at people when they’re out and about, using the slightest excuse to pick on humans.

“Mary, please,” Cas sniffs. “I don’t want to be an angel anymore. I don’t want to be this.” He gestures at his wings. “Just cut them off.”

She chews on her lip. “I don’t think that’s possible, Cas. Even if it were, you’d still be an angel.” And who knows how Naomi would react? She’d probably kill Mary and get away with it.

“But I can’t be this!” Cas exclaims. “I don’t want to be this.”

What can she say? Nothing will change the situation. She envelops him in a hug. As she pulls back, she hears Sam and Dean come into the kitchen.

“Mom, what’s going on—oh!” Dean says. His eyes widen when he catches sight of Cas’s wings. They flock to Mary, and she knows what he’s thinking, that he despises the black-winged angels as much as she does.

“Ooh, they’re pretty!” Sam enthuses. He can’t yet appreciate the significance of the wings, what they mean for Cas and his future. Possibly even theirs.

Cas swipes at his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

After a minute of silence, Dean replies, “Don’t worry about it, Cas. This doesn’t change anything.”

“It doesn’t?” Cas echoes hopefully.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

She smiles at Dean’s heartfelt words.

“Castiel,” Mary hears Naomi shout from the living room as she finishes drying the dishes. Cas shuffles out of his room and into the living room.

“Yes, Mother?” Cas says softly.

“Sit down. We need to talk.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mary tunes out the conversation and focuses on her task. But when she hears Dean’s name, she freezes.

She really shouldn’t eavesdrop, but she wants to know why Naomi mentioned her older son. She stills her motion and pricks up her ears.

“You’re sixteen, Castiel,” Naomi is lecturing. “You’re too old for this sort of thing. It was okay when you were little. But being friends with a human . . . it’s improper.”

“Are you not friends with Mary?” Cas counters.

“Mary is my employee, not my friend,” Naomi scoffs. Too true, and Mary wouldn’t want to be Naomi’s friend. Still, it stings to hear her make the possibility sound so ridiculous.

“You invite her over to dinner.”

“It behooves us to take care of our humans.” _Our humans_. Mary cringes at the words. John would have something to say about that, if he were here. He’d argue that it sounds like Naomi thinks she _owns_ her.

And it does.

“What is wrong with having a human friend?” Cas inquires.

“It’s odd, Castiel. Do you know what happens to angels who befriend humans? The government keeps a close eye on them. We have to stay loyal to our species, you realize, and if the city council questions your loyalty, do you know where you go? If you don’t do as you’re told, if you stray away from your role, do you know where you go? _The Bottoms_.”

“The Bottoms are a myth, Mother. You should know that.”

Mary has heard rumors of the Bottoms. An underground prison where angels and humans deemed to be the worst criminals are sent and used as subjects for the government’s experiments. Some people say that Lucifer is a result of an experiment in the Bottoms, that that’s why he can create “demons,” creatures with supernatural powers.

“No, Castiel. It’s definitely real. I have been there.”

“What?! You . . . do you . . . participate?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss anything related to them. I can get in trouble for even mentioning them to you. Suffice it to say that you do not want to ever go down there. Castiel,” Naomi’s voice breaks in a rare display of emotion, “my darling son. I cannot bear the thought of you down there.”

“You have done nothing to try to stop whatever monstrous experiments take place there?” Castiel responds.

“I cannot do that, Castiel. If I tried, I would be sent there myself.”

“That is a weak excuse.”

“One person cannot change everything alone, Castiel. You must know that. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Liar,” Castiel spits, his voice simultaneously filled with sadness and steely resolve. “Let them send me there. I don’t care.”

“Castiel, you have no idea what you’re saying.”

“No, I do. I refuse to live my life in fear.”

“What about Dean?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think you would be the only one sent to the Bottoms? A friendship between an angel and a human like the one you and Dean have—it’s deviant. Dean will wind up in the Bottoms as well.”

A tense silence fills the air. Eventually, Castiel concludes, “Fine, Mother. I will consider the matter.” His voice is pure melancholy.

Mary knows what his decision will be. The threat against himself may not faze him, but the one against Dean will.

And honestly, if it keeps Dean from the suffering doled out by the Bottoms . . . if it keeps Cas from it, too, then perhaps the boys should no longer be friends. The thought of either of them being experimented on hurts her heart.

Sam has gone home with a school friend, and Dean and Cas are finishing up their homework in Naomi’s study. After a visit to the bathroom, Mary walks by and hears Cas say, “Dean, I need to talk to you about something.”

She knows this is it.—Cas is going to rip them asunder. Dean will need her. She thinks it might help if she knows how the conversation goes (at least, that’s what she tells herself to justify snooping), so she stands just out of their line of sight and listens in.

Dean smiles that easy smile he seems to reserve just for Cas. “Sure, Cas. What’s up?”

Cas licks his lips. “I—I don’t know how to say this, Dean.”

“Just get it out, Cas.”

“We can’t do this anymore, Dean.”

“Do what? Our homework together?” Dean quips.

“No. You and me. ‘Hanging out.’” Despite herself, Mary cannot help but grin at Cas’s use of physical air quotes. A second later, her stomach drops at the thought of what’s to come.

“Huh?”

“We shouldn’t spend so much time—or any time—together.”

“Who says?” Dean demands indignantly.

“It is . . . it is not proper.”

“So what?”

“Angels and humans. We are a different species.”

“So?”

“We have nothing in common anymore, Dean.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re my best friend, Cas. I’m closer to you than any of my human friends.”

“But I am not close to you.”

“What do you mean?”

Mary notes that Cas’s eyes water, but he clears them quickly. When he resumes speaking, he does so in a monotone. “I have been indulging you, Dean. But I can do so no longer.”

“What are you talking about, Cas? Why does your voice sound like . . .” _Like them, the other angels_ , Mary knows he’s thinking. “ . . . like that?”

“This is who I am, Dean.”

“Bullshit.”

“I have been playacting. But I cannot waste any more time with you. We are not friends, if we ever were.”

“What? Cas, why’re you sayin’ all this stuff? Who put you up to it?”

“No one.”

“No, Cas. This isn’t you.”

“But it is,” Cas continues tonelessly. “There is no place for you in my life anymore.”

“Cas, stop—”

“No, _you_ stop, Dean.” Cas releases a bitter laugh, and Mary jumps at the unfamiliar cruel sound. “Do you think someone like me—a warrior, and an elite one at that—did you know that I am the first in my class?—can ever be on equal footing with a mud monkey like you?”

Mary flinches, and Dean gapes at him. _Mud monkey_. She’s never even heard Naomi use the slur, and to hear it come out of Cas’s mouth . . . it’s shocking.

“I thought you were different,” Dean squeaks as he stands up.

“I’m not.”

Mary hides as Dean dashes out of the room. After he passes by, she stands just outside the room and studies Cas. His shoulders slump, and now tears fall freely down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he murmurs. He covers his face with his hands.

She longs to comfort both of her boys, but neither will welcome her presence, she knows. Not right now.

Dean resolves never to speak to Cas again and stops coming over to the Grace house after school. He never accompanies Mary to dinner at the Grace residence, either.

After the confrontation with Dean, Cas dons an emotionless mask.

It’s sad, what’s become of the two boys who were once so close.

Perhaps it’s for the best, Mary tells herself, since they’re destined for much different lives.

She’s not sure if she believes that, though.


	2. Part II--Civil War

Hoping to grab some leftovers from tonight’s supper, Castiel strolls through the mess tent. He’s just presented his report to his superior, General Zachariah Adler, and as usual, Zachariah had asked many questions. He’s exhausted, but his stomach is growling. First sustenance, then bed.

He snags a small piece of bread and chows down hurriedly before heading toward his tent.

As he walks, he observes Uriel making lewd talk with an army member of the lowest rank, one of the enlisted humans who make up the bulk of the foot soldiers. Uriel’s black wings are spread out wide in a gesture of intimidation.

It is an open secret that many of the army’s officers, all angels, will take any human they please to bed. The human can hardly refuse; if they do, then they risk being charged with a specious crime by the angel who’d propositioned them. Since the higher ups take an angel’s word over a human’s, an angel’s allegation will always lead to sentencing. Sometimes, depending on the severity of an accusation, the human might even be executed.

It’s no wonder that humans acquiesce so easily. Everything about the practice makes Castiel feel dirty, especially when he witnesses it in action.

The sandy-haired man whose back is to him isn’t giving in, though. He stands rigidly and hisses, “Fuck off.”

Uriel’s wings stiffen. “You would dare speak to me like that?”

The man turns his head a fraction and smirks. In profile, Castiel recognizes him.

Surely that cannot be—

But it is, he knows.

Dean Winchester.

The dearest friend (maybe the only friend) he’s ever had. It’s been what—ten years?—since he’s seen the man. His muscles have filled out. He is an exceedingly handsome man, which makes him a prime target for angels searching for a hookup.

Uriel clamps a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Come with me.”

Dean shrugs Uriel off and glares at him. “I told you to fuck off.”

Castiel remembers how stubborn Dean can be. Dean will not budge. He doesn’t know what Dean’s doing here, but his heart sinks at the thought of anything happening to him. He strides toward the duo and snakes an arm around Dean’s shoulders. He feels them tense underneath his grip, and he squeezes reassuringly. “Uriel, why are you propositioning my paramour?” Castiel grits out. Angels can call “dibs” on a human, as it were, which would render that human off limits to others. Announcing a previous claim is the only way Castiel can think of to scare off Uriel.

Uriel’s eyes widen. “Sorry, Castiel. I had no idea—”

Dean jerks out of Castiel’s grasp and spits, “ _Cas_?! What the hell?! I ain’t your fuckin’—”

Castiel forces out a laugh and pats Dean on the shoulder. “He’s feisty.”

“Uh huh,” Uriel mumbles skeptically. “You let him address you like that?”

“Like what?”

“With such familiarity,” Uriel elaborates. Castiel wrinkles his brow in confusion. “ _Cas?!_ ”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Castiel says too brightly.

“I always knew you were a weirdo.” Uriel frowns. “I thought you didn’t approve of this sort of thing.”

Damn. Everyone knows Castiel’s opinion on the matter. What would be a valid excuse? He pecks Dean on the cheek and grins. “Can you blame me? Dean is ridiculously attractive.” Dean reddens with what Castiel is sure must be anger.

“That he is,” Uriel leers, his eyes scanning Dean’s body in a way that makes Castiel want to punch him. “Congratulations.” He winks. “Enjoy your night with the boy toy, Castiel.”

Castiel encircles a hand around Dean’s wrist. “Come.” He tugs at the wrist, but Dean just glowers.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you, jackass!” Dean exclaims. “I’m—”

Cas presses his lips to Dean’s ear. “Dean, please. If you do not come with me, Uriel will discover the lie. Then he’ll approach you all over again—”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” Dean thunders.

“But you need it.” Castiel steps back and meets Dean’s eyes. “Please?”

“Okay,” Dean sighs. “But we’re not having sex or whatever.”

Castiel tries to smile. “Of course not.”

Dean follows him to his tent. Inside, he collapses on his cot, and Dean settles on a cushion beside it.

“I didn’t need your help,” Dean repeats sullenly.

“Yes, you did. If you . . . you said no to Uriel.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

“You don’t know what he could’ve done to you, Dean. Humans have died for lesser displays of defiance.”

“So you rode in on your horse, a knight in shining armor—”

Castiel squints at him. “I was on no horse.” He’s startled when Dean throws his head back and laughs.

“Literal as always, I see,” Dean comments. “But so what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you care? It’s just another dead mud monkey.”

“Do not use that term,” Castiel snaps. Dean jumps at the vehemence in his voice.

He lifts an eyebrow at Castiel. “Why not? It’s what you said last time we talked.”

Castiel rubs at his forehead. Yes, he had, and he still regrets the words. It was the only way he could ensure Dean would avoid him. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

Dean snorts. “Little late for that, don’t ya think?”

“Still. I am sorry.”

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Dean ventures, “So, do you rescue all the boys and girls from lecherous dicks like Uriel?”

“No.”

“Then why me?”

“Because I couldn’t let that happen to you.”

“So it’s okay if that happens to someone else?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why don’t you do somethin’ about it?”

“I can’t,” Castiel sighs wearily.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Hypocrite.”

“No, Dean. You don’t understand. I really can’t.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s your sorry-ass excuse?”

Tears pool in Castiel’s eyes, and he wills them to go away before Dean can see them. “I tried, when I first saw it happen,” he confesses. The effort had earned him his first demerit. He has three so far, and when an angel accrues five, they disappear. Rumor is that they go to the Bottoms, which no one actually believes in, except Castiel knows better. Mother had revealed the reality of the place all those years ago, when he’d forced himself to push Dean away.

Having any demerits is unusual, though. Castiel stands out because of his three, all from early in his career; he always feels everyone else’s eyes on him, hunting for the slightest slipup. Only one other angel in camp has any—Samandriel, who possesses one for the time he’d wanted to show mercy to a rebel leader.

“I objected, and I was punished.”

“Punished how?”

In addition to the demerit, Castiel had been branded. Thrice, each in different places. He rolls up his trousers to show Dean the wing-shaped burn on his ankle. “With this.”

Dean’s eyes bulge. “Jesus Christ, Cas!”

He rolls his pants back down. “And they told me they could make me disappear if I made more trouble.”

“‘Disappear’? Like, they’d kill you?”

Castiel shrugs. “Perhaps.” _Or worse. The Bottoms_. But he won’t rile Dean up by mentioning them.

“I always knew angels were asshats, but—”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel warns.

Dean winks. Where the action had seemed sordid coming from Uriel, from Dean it’s endearing, playful. “Present company excepted, of course. Maybe.” A flicker of hurt passes through his green eyes, but Dean masks it a second later.

“I know I wounded you deeply, Dean. If I could take it back, I would.”

“But you can’t.” A few stray tears drift down Castiel’s cheeks as he nods. “Aw, hell, Cas, let’s let bygones be bygones, eh?”

“Really?” Castiel squeaks, hope blossoming in his chest.

“Yeah.”

Castiel swipes at his cheeks with his knuckles. “Thank you.” After a minute of quiet, he inquires, “So, what are you doing here, Dean?”

“What do you mean? You invited me.”

“Who’s being literal now?” Castiel teases. It’s funny, how easily they fall back into their familiar rapport. “I mean with the army. Since you dislike angels so much. Not only that, but I believe you would disapprove of our target.”

“The rebel humans, right?”

“Yes. I would think you’d sympathize.”

“Maybe I do a little. But hey, the pay’s good, so why not?”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be with the legion set to face Lucifer?” The forces sent to battle with Lucifer’s are much larger than this little band ordered to put down the rebellion.

“Talk about a dick angel. And what the fuck are these ‘demons’ he creates?”

As Castiel has heard it, Lucifer transfers some of his supernatural powers to the so-called demons. The ability is the result of an experiment in the Bottoms, he surmises, but he keeps that to himself.

Dean shrugs. “It’s not like I got to choose. They sent me here.”

“Hmm. And how’s Mary?”

“Dead.”

Castiel freezes. He’d loved Mary very much, maybe even more than his own mother, as terrible as that sounds. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Dean averts his eyes and wipes at them. “Two years ago. Cancer.”

Castiel suppresses a sniffle then continues, “And Sam?”

“Working at Bobby’s smithy.”

“I thought he might’ve gone to university.”

“What for? He already knows all the shit they’d teach him there.”

That is true. Sam is highly intelligent. His intellect could rival many angels’, and he knows the Winchesters wish Sam could’ve done more with it. So does he.

Dean yawns, and Castiel decides to breach the awkward subject before they nod off. “Dean. We will need to keep up this ruse, or another angel may try what Uriel did.”

“What’re you saying?”

Castiel flushes. “We will need to spend a significant amount of time in my tent. Alone. For appearance’s sake. Is that all right?”

After a pause, Dean nods. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

Castiel experiences a flurry of relief. Now that he and Dean have reconnected, maybe they can become friends again.

In the morning, after throwing an amiable good-bye Cas’s way, Dean stumbles out of the tent.

He’d told Cas a crock of lies last night, but hey, if it helps the cause, why not? It’s not like the bastard had been truthful with him anyway. Like he gives a shit that Mom is dead, for one.

Last night, Cas had shed nothing but crocodile tears. They’d been too controlled to be anything but. He’s another mechanical, emotionless bastard like the rest of them.

Even after all these years, an idiotic part of Dean’s brain still refuses to believe that. It tells him that the Cas he knew as a kid is the true one, not this neutral façade he’s pasted on now. That his eyes hadn’t been empty, that there’d been flickers of emotion in them, things like affection, sorrow, and regret.

Ludicrous, obviously.

A traitorous part of his brain supplies, _but if he didn’t care at all, why would he rescue me from that Uriel dick?_

Who knows? Why does it matter, anyway?

The run-in with Cas had been serendipitous, and he plans to take full advantage of it. As an angel, Cas probably has an inside scoop on what the angels are planning to do to the rebels, which he’s here to find out and relay to Sammy and the group of rebels nearby.

They’re gonna topple these angel dicks. Finally let humans have the chance to reach their full potential. Educate themselves as much as they want. Sammy deserves that much. And they can get whatever jobs they want. Have the freedom not to be dominated by the angels’ every whim.

Gaining Cas’s trust would bring them more information than Dean could’ve ever dreamed of.

So playing along with Cas, pretending to rekindle their friendship—that’s a no-brainer.

He hastily scrawls a note to Sam: _Guess who I ran into, of all people? Um, angels. Frigging Cas._

He finds the messenger pigeon he’s hidden in a makeshift dovecote in the woods, ties the slip of paper to its leg, and sends it off.

Damn, but seeing Cas has put Dean in a nostalgic mood. Of all dumb things.

He enters his tent and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds himself alone. He has to share these quarters with nineteen other recruits, and he doesn’t want any of them seeing what he’s about to do.

He pulls his duffel bag from underneath his cot and rummages around until he finds a small wooden box. He pries it open, glancing around cautiously all the while, and studies the object he’s been carrying around with him since before he can remember, even when he’d refused to look at it because the pain of Cas’s memory had become too much.

The blonde feather is as soft as ever, Dean observes as he brushes his fingertips over its small expanse.

He doesn’t know why he’s kept it, especially since he’d cut Cas out of his heart ten years ago. But something about it soothes him when he’s at his worst. Like when Mom had died, it’d provided him with a strange comfort amidst his despair.

He shuts the box and slips the container into his pocket, resolved to keep it on his person from now on. Why, he’s not sure, but it feels like the right thing to do.

He stretches before traipsing off to the human mess tent, where he waits in a long line just to get a potato and some water. Afterward, he sneaks off to the dovecote and finds the pigeon with a new note. He opens it and smiles as he reads.

_Castiel Grace? See if you can get close to him. We could use him. Be careful out there._

Dean writes his reply on the back of Sam’s note.

_Already ahead of you. And when have I ever not been careful?_

He sends the pigeon off and heads back toward camp. In his distracted state, he runs smack dab into somebody. He opens his lips to apologize then notices who he’s bumped into.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greets him with a small smile.

“Uh, hey,” Dean mumbles. In the crowd around them, he sees Uriel—that was the name of the dick who’d tried to force Dean back to his tent, right?—eyeing them suspiciously.

Dean can’t have that. Cas is his most surefire way of finding out what the angels have in store for the rebels.

“Hey, maybe we should catch up?” Dean suggests.

Cas’s expression relaxes into something warm for a brief second then resumes its mask of neutrality. Had Dean imagined that? “Would you really want to?”

Dean shrugs. “’Course.”

“Well. We do need to spend time together.” He grabs Dean’s hand and laces their fingers together. Dean glares at him and starts to snatch back his hand when Cas reminds him, “We need to keep up appearances, Dean.”

“Yeah. Right.”

In his tent, Cas offers Dean a seat next to him on the cot, but he flops down on the cushions instead. Cas lowers his lantern to the ground and joins him, and wow, this close, Dean discovers he’d forgotten how fucking blue Cas’s eyes are.

This close to Dean, Castiel can appreciate just how beautiful his eyes are, the flecks of hazel nested within the forest green. He doesn’t remember whether Dean’s eyes have always been this dynamic.

Dean clears his throat. “So. Um. What’ve you been up to since . . . ?”

Castiel inwardly flinches at the memory of their last conversation. “After I graduated from high school—”

“Top of your class, right?” Dean says sharply.

Castiel nods, lowering his eyes in shame. It appears that Dean recalls every nuance of that fateful discussion a decade ago. So does he. He used to have nightmares about it, and he’d wake up in a cold sweat. Before he’d learned the discipline of reigning in his emotions.

“Afterward, Mother sent me to Garrison Military Academy.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him. Judgmental eyes. He has every right to judge Castiel. Garrison Military Academy is the most elite warrior institution in Seraphim, the one attended by every single high-ranking officer. Its graduates have a reputation for being the coldest, most logical, most dispassionate members of the warrior class. Castiel remembers his first day there, how most of his peers had already seemed emotionless. The few who’d seemed to possess some feeling were trained out of it by graduation.

“And did you graduate at the top of your class there, too?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Castiel breathes. He’d been second in his class, in fact, first in intelligence and combat skills, but he’d ranked last on the evaluation of sentiment. The test had required a simulation for which he’d ingested a draught of some hallucinogen. He’d been told to consider himself the best hope for the nation’s defense and positioned near a farm by the border of Hella, where a few members of Lucifer’s army had captured a human family. The soldiers were torturing the humans, including two children, to find out where Castiel was hiding. Castiel could save the humans by surrendering himself to the soldiers, but that would guarantee his death. The family was supposed to be sacrificed for the greater good, but witnessing the abject terror on their faces, Castiel couldn’t let them suffer anymore. He’d acted instinctively, before his brain could catch up with what he’d done, and turned himself in to rescue the family. All for something that wasn’t even real.

“So you’re just another soulless Garrison bastard, then,” Dean comments.

“I suppose you could say that,” Castiel acknowledges while restraining a wince.

“Um . . . sorry,” Dean mumbles. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You did.”

“Uh . . . ” Dean’s eyes dart away nervously. “No. I don’t want anything to come between us, not again. Just forget I said that. Please.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side and regards Dean. He doesn’t remember him ever being this . . . meek. Is that the right word? But it’s been a long time. How would he know anything about Dean now?

“But it’s true,” Castiel articulates. “Do you remember the massacre of Stull?”

“That rebel village? The one the fucking angels destroyed three years ago?”

“Yes. I was sent off from the main contingent to deal with it myself. I . . . am responsible for that, Dean. I carried out those orders. So, yes, I am nothing but a soulless Garrison bastard.”

“Christ, Cas!” Dean exclaims. “You killed 100 people!”

“I know,” Castiel replies, attempting to keep his voice steady. He remembers how horrified he’d been by the mission Vice President Raphael Engels had handed him, how the only way he’d been able to follow through was to detach himself, pretend like he was watching someone else. Afterward, he knew he’d finally become a full-fledged monster, and he’d resigned himself to playing his role.

He’d been damned long ago anyway, when he’d chosen to destroy Dean to save his friend.

Dean gapes at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

Castiel feels faint as, for the first time, he considers the enormity of what he’d done in Stull. He’d pushed it deep inside, never allowing his mind to dwell on it, not until now. He’s not even sure why he brought it up to Dean. Maybe he means to show Dean that their friendship is not worth rekindling.

“What have you done for the past ten years, Dean?” Castiel inquires, trying to find a way to distract himself from the turmoil bubbling up in his chest.

Dean shrugs. “Oh, just odd jobs here and there. Whatever it took to take care of Mom. I substituted for her at Naomi’s, y’know. When she was . . . when she got too weak for the work.”

“Oh. No, I did not know.”

“Dude, don’t you ever talk to your mom?”

“Not much, no.” He’s been in the field for the past five years, ever since the rebels started seriously challenging the status quo. Last year, Lucifer had finally decided to take advantage of the civil strife in Seraphim. He’s already claimed a few border towns. Mother herself has been busy with preserving the security and loyalty of Lawrence, so she corresponds seldom.

“Oh. Yeah, I’ve done a lot of things. Like—” Castiel tunes Dean out as he regales him with occupational tales from the past. They roar in his ears, the screams in Stull. They grow louder and louder, and he wants to yell at them to stop, but he knows he deserves the torment.

Oh, God, what has he let himself become?

“Dean,” Castiel snaps. Dean gawks at him. “Please leave.” He can’t let Dean see him like this, a defective angel racked by remorse.

Or as another heartless warrior.

If they didn’t need to continue their association to save Dean from lechers, he would push Dean away right now.

But that doesn’t mean Dean has to stay tonight.

“Why, Cas? What’d I say?” Dean asks.

“Nothing. I just—I do not feel well.”

“You sick?”

Castiel shrugs. “I think I just need some time alone. Please.”

“Sure, Cas. See you tomorrow?”

“If you wish.”

“Okay. G’night.”

“Good night, Dean.”

After Dean exits the tent, Castiel dissolves into sobs. He curls up into a fetal position and lays wide awake, ghosts haunting his conscience. He has to regain control of himself, he knows, before his peers suspect what he feels. But how?

He’ll bury himself inside, allow his body to behave like an automaton. It’s the only way. It has always been the only way. Now that he’s clawed his way back up, he must stuff himself back down.

He’ll have to be extra vigilant around Dean. He can’t allow sentimentality to interfere again.

On his way to morning drills, Dean passes by the angel officers’ sparring grounds. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Cas fencing with that fucker Uriel. He pauses to watch for a minute, realizing he’s never seen Cas’s reputed prowess in action.

Cas’s plain white tunic hugs his chest, showing his muscles to full advantage. The sun shines on the taut tendons of his lightly bronzed arms. His black britches are snug, too, highlighting his well-defined thighs and calves. His black wings are almost fully extended, and their span is impressive. Uriel’s appear to be only three-fourths as long.

Cas easily parries Uriel’s thrusts, his combat skill resembling a graceful dance.

Damn if he isn’t a breathtaking sight.

Even so, he’s a monster, Dean has to remind himself. If he’d had his doubts, last night’s confession had dispelled them, the way Cas had so casually mentioned slaughtering the residents of Stull. Not one flicker of emotion had passed over Cas’s features. It had chilled Dean to the core, and when Cas had changed the subject, he’d been too eager to go along, babbling about he didn’t even know what until Cas had abruptly directed him to leave.

He still doesn’t know what that was all about.

If he didn’t need to get close to Cas to learn more about the angels’ plans, he would avoid him from now on.

The Cas of his youth really is dead, and Dean mourns him.

He sticks a hand inside his coat pocket and clutches the wooden box. He should burn the feather. What it represents no longer exists, nor can it ever be resurrected.

His eyes stray back to Cas, who’s disarmed Uriel. Cas’s lips form a small feral grin.

Dean feels a stab of melancholy. He scurries away before Cas might see him.

After supper, the officers directly under Zachariah’s command meet with him in his tent. “Let’s have an update on the rebel situation first. Rachel, what have you gleaned so far?”

The blonde-haired angel in charge of the scouting forces perks up. “They seem blissfully unaware of our army even though we’re a day’s march away, maybe two at the most. They appear to be stockpiling weapons—useless ones, of course, swords and knives made of regular steel and iron.” Only blades made out of Eden steel can harm angels, and only angels possess them. Each angel carries his or her blade into battle; it’s the only weapon effective enough to defeat Lucifer’s lieutenants, many of whom are, like him, angels who’ve defected from Seraphim. Most of his army is composed of humans, though, whose souls Lucifer has sucked out, just as humans make up the majority of Seraphim’s foot soldiers.

“How many of them are there?” Zachariah asks.

“They’ve recruited quite a few individuals from neighboring farms, so I’d say their numbers might be up to two hundred? Only ten or so of them maintain the stronghold, however.”

“If a run-down cabin can even be called a stronghold,” Uriel jeers.

“Do not underestimate the resourcefulness of humans,” Samandriel warns. Uriel merely scoffs in reply.

“Will we be ready to attack them soon?” Hester inquires.

“We can attack anytime,” Zachariah affirms. “We have twice as many individuals as they, and superior power, to boot.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Uriel grumbles.

“I smell a rat.”

Alarmed, Castiel quickly glances around the tent. “Where?” The other angels guffaw, and he flushes. Dammit, why is his mind so slow sometimes? The literal meaning always passes through his mind first, and he’d reacted before he’d finished processing Zachariah’s words.

“For someone who’s reputed for his intelligence, you can be quite dumb, Castiel,” Uriel points out. Castiel opens his mouth to defend himself, but Rachel speaks first.

“Leave him alone, Uriel.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re just jealous because Castiel kicked your ass this morning.”

“Stop bickering. We have business to discuss,” Zachariah cuts in. “I have my suspicions. The rebels may be few, but they are not stupid. They could be setting a trap.”

“A trap we can easily escape, no doubt,” Uriel replies.

“Perhaps. Rachel, let’s observe them for another week. Many of our new recruits do require further training, after all.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We still haven’t discussed what we’re going to do with the rebels once we meet them in the field,” Hester observes.

“Slaughter them all, of course, the ungrateful wretches,” Uriel grouses.

“Must we?” Castiel puts in. Everyone but Samandriel turns a judgmental gaze on him, and he licks his lips. “I don’t mean show them mercy,” he squeaks, although maybe he does. If they kill everyone who opposes them, what makes them any better than Lucifer? But he knows the other angels will not see the matter that way. “Just—perhaps we can gather information from them about how many more active rebel pockets are out there.”

“I don’t see what is so wrong with showing them mercy, anyway,” Samandriel says. Oh, no. If he continues down this path, he’s going to earn another demerit. He gives Samandriel a warning look and inwardly sighs in relief when he continues, “I mean, if we show them mercy, perhaps the other rebels will surrender, too. They’ll know that we’re not the enemy.”

“That is an interesting thought, Samandriel,” Zachariah responds. “But we wouldn’t want anyone to take advantage of our generosity. We have to make examples of these ingrates.” He clears his throat and turns to Hester. “You said you received news from President Michael this morning?”

“Yes,” Hester, who is in charge of the post, replies. “Lucifer’s army has taken another human border town. Its citizens are lost to us.”

“What happened to them?”

“Lucifer . . . ” Hester pales. “He killed all children under twelve on the spot. He forced some of the humans into gladiator matches for his and his soldiers’ amusement. The majority, though . . . ”

“He’s stolen more souls.”

“Yes. And created more soldiers for himself.”

“If only we could make our enemies as useful as he can,” Uriel mutters.

Castiel shivers. “That would be abominable.”

“Yes,” Rachel agrees. “We are not monsters.”

 _But maybe we are_ , Castiel reflects, Stull roaring into his conscience again.

Then all his other misdeeds hammer themselves into his brain.

He deserves nothing but pain and punishment.

Despite his reluctance to associate with Cas, Dean seeks him out after dinner. There’s stuff he needs to know, such as when the angels plan on confronting the rebels nearby, and he can’t learn it by hiding away because of his dumb feelings.

“You feelin’ better?” Dean asks Cas after they settle on the cushions in his tent. Dean scans his surroundings surreptitiously, hoping his eyes will alight on a spot where Cas might keep his marching orders.

Cas startles at the question, and Dean forces his eyes back to Cas’s face. He doesn’t want the guy to get suspicious. “I suppose you could say that,” Cas answers, tone guarded.

Huh. Dean wonders what that’s all about, but he’s not gonna pry. “Glad to hear it.”

Cas licks his lips, and Dean finds it distracting. Okay, fine, he can acknowledge that Cas is pretty, but that doesn’t mean he should ogle the guy. He saw how dangerous the dude is this morning, watching that duel with Uriel.

Cas is just another dick angel, anyway.

“I do not understand it,” Cas muses aloud, “why the rebels are so intent on overthrowing us when Lucifer is at large in our country.”

“Maybe he’s better—um, I mean, maybe they think he’s better than President Michael,” Dean theorizes. Thank goodness he’d corrected himself just in time. He can’t have Cas knowing he sides with the rebels, that he thinks Lucifer, or anyone, really, is better than the status quo.

“Then they are misinformed.”

“What do you mean?

“What do you know about Lucifer, Dean?”

“Um.” Next to nothing, now that he thinks about it. “He’s the leader of Hella. And his troops are crazy loyal.”

“Do you know why they’re ‘crazy loyal’?”

“’Cause they like him?”

“Because he compels them to obey.”

Dean snorts. “Like that’s possible.”

Cas narrows his eyes sharply. “It is. Do you want to know how?”

“Enlighten me,” Dean throws out flippantly.

“He steals their souls.”

Dean almost chokes on his own breath. “ _What?!_ ”

“He sucks their souls from their bodies—I don’t know what he does with them after that. But he takes their souls, and then he controls them, mind and body. Even if he’s not in their presence, they somehow instinctively know what he wants.”

Dean laughs uneasily. He knows what Cas says can’t be true, yet his words make him shiver. “That’s bullshit, man.”

“No, I have seen it happen in battle.” And Cas is so still, his face so serious and apprehensive that Dean knows he’s telling the truth.

“But that’s . . . how’d he get the ability to do that?” Cas shrugs and averts his gaze. “Okay. Um. I guess we don’t want Lucifer runnin’ our country, either.”

“No, definitely not.” His eyes return to Dean.

“So,” Dean mumbles, trying to sound nonchalant. “Um. When do you think we might finally see some action?” _Wow. Subtle, Winchester._

“Why?”

Dean shrugs. “Just curious is all.”

Cas appears skeptical, but all he says is, “I have no idea.”

After spending five nights in a row with Cas, Dean feels ready to document what he’s learned so far. He’s finally circumnavigated the whole camp, which he’d done in snippets during his free minutes, and he’s ready to draw it. During a lull in the day, he stumbles through the throngs of gossiping soldiers toward his tent so he can get started.

“Goddammit,” he mutters to himself as he riffles through his bag.

He glances around the tent. One of the nineteen other bastards he shares this place with must’ve stolen it. Maybe he can go through their stuff to get it back, but what if someone were to walk in while he was doing that? Then everyone would think _he_ is a thief.

Fuck. Without the paper, how can he send Sam any more messages?

He’ll figure that out later. Right now, he has drills to attend.

Shortly after suppertime, Dean runs into Cas, who frowns at him. “Hello, Dean. Is something wrong?”’

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “Some jackass stole my pen and paper. I was gonna . . . ” He can’t tell Cas what he really needs the materials for, obviously—well, not the complete truth, anyway. “—write to Sammy.”

“Did someone in your tent take them?” Cas asks, alarmed.

Dean shrugs. “Who else?” He waits, hoping Cas will offer to supply him with the missing items.

“Hmm.” Cas chews his bottom lip as he thinks. After a minute, he raises tentative eyes to Dean and suggests, “You could move in with me?”

“What?” Dean sputters. He totally hadn’t expected that.

“It is purely a practical proposal,” Cas explains, a faint red tinging his cheeks. “No one will have the opportunity to rob you again.”

“Except you,” Dean gibes. Cas opens his mouth to protest, but Dean holds up a hand. “Just jokin’, man.”

“What do you say?” Cas ventures after a pregnant pause.

Dean nods. “Okay.” This is better than anything he could’ve imagined. With permission to be in Cas’s tent whenever he wants, he can snoop through Cas’s things with ease.

“All right. I will acquire a cot for you, and you can bring your bags to my tent.”

“Awesome.”

Even though Dean has spent several nights in Cas’s tent before, something feels different now, like a commitment. Which is idiotic, really. He and Cas can never be what they were.

They don’t talk much after Dean moves in, and he eventually nods off. He feels like he’s barely slept a wink when something jolts him awake.

Cas groans, and Dean’s eyes pop open. Cas is thrashing in his sleep, Dean realizes. “Please,” Cas whimpers. “Don’t make me. Not again.” Dean’s hackles rise at the despair in his voice.

“Psst, Cas,” he whispers.

“No,” Cas begs brokenly.

“Cas,” Dean repeats, more loudly this time. He lights the lantern. In the dim glow, he notices that Cas’s eyes are open, wide and tortured. He’s shaking, and Dean instinctively reaches for his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” Cas snaps, jerking back. He folds into himself, drawing his knees up to his chin. “I’m unclean.”

“What?” There’s something of the madman in Cas’s eyes.

“I . . . have done so many bad things, Dean.”

What’s with the sudden guilty conscience? “Like Stull. I know.”

Cas shakes his head. “Not just that. It’s so much more than that, Dean . . . I’m damned.” Cas swallows. “And I . . . I’ll just go on. Like this. I have no choice.”

Okay, that’s just B.S. “You always have a choice, Cas.”

“No, I don’t. Not if . . . ” Cas lowers his voice to a whisper. “Not if I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Huh?”

Cas clamps a hand over his mouth. “Forget I said that.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him. Judging by the mortified look on Cas’s face, he’d been referring to something important, but he has no clue what it might be. “Why? What’re you talkin’ about?”

“N . . . n—n—nothing,” Cas stammers, shivering.

“Cas—” Dean reaches out for him again with one hand.

Cas flinches away again. “Don’t, Dean. This . . . ” He waves his hand around the tent. “ . . . was all a mistake. I should’ve known better.”

“What?”

“But I was only trying to protect you,” Cas continues, oblivious to Dean’s voice. “Still.” Cas scoots back. “I’ll find you another tent.”

“What? Why?” Dean can’t lose this prime placement; it’ll make his mission that much harder.

“We can’t . . . I’m no good for you.”

“Cas. You’re not making any sense.”

Cas sighs. “I know. Just trust me.”

“Why would I do that?”

Cas nods to himself. “Fair question. I know I may have seemed . . . unfair . . . to you, in the past.” His eyes glint in the shadow of the lantern. “But everything I’ve done.—It’s always been to protect you.”

“Yeah, right. Like that shit you pulled when we were sixteen.— Like that was all for my ‘protection.’”

“It was.”

“The fuck it was,” Dean seethes.

At least Cas has the grace to look ashamed, but that doesn’t stop the lies. “It’s true.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

Cas’s eyes shift away. “I can’t say.”

“’Cause it’s bullshit.”

Cas shrugs. “You can believe that, if you wish.”

Dean rolls his eyes at him then lays back down. “Whatever. Let’s just get some sleep while we can.” He closes his eyes, not caring whether Cas will follow his lead or not. Just as he’s about to drift off, he hears rustling. “Be quiet, would you?” Dean snaps.

“Yes, of course,” Cas breathes. “My apologies.”

But a minute later, there’s more loud noise. Dean bolts upright. “Cas, I thought I said—” He goes still at the sight before him. With one hand, Cas abruptly closes the wooden trunk he’d opened. He’s holding a dagger in the other hand.—Made of the expensive shit, Dean realizes. Eden steel. He’s pointing it at his thigh, wielding it as if he’s about to cut out a chunk of his flesh. Holy shit. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“N—n—nothing,” Cas gasps. Tears shimmer in his eyes, and it sparks something fierce and protective in Dean.

“Give me that.” Dean snatches the knife from an unresisting Cas and tosses it aside. A chill runs through him as he belatedly realizes what Cas had intended to do. “You were gonna use that on yourself, weren’t you?” Dean charges.

Cas gives him a defiant look. “It’s the only way.”

“Okay. Enough with the cryptic bullshit. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“I see no other option for me.”

“I said to cut it out, Cas.”

“I’m a coward.”

Dean grasps Cas’s shoulders, and this time Cas doesn’t pull away. “Explain,” he demands.

“I can’t do my duty anymore. Their screams are always in my mind, Dean. Always. I’d pushed them away, but you . . . you brought them back. I can’t handle them anymore, and the screams to come. But I can’t endure the Bottoms, either.”

Despite the seriousness in Cas’s voice, Dean can’t help but laugh. “The Bottoms, Cas? Really? You’re scared of a myth?”

“They’re not a myth, Dean.” He rubs his eyes with one hand. “When we were sixteen, I would’ve given anything not to do that to you.”

“Then why did you?” Dean asks quietly.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt.”

Dean removes his hands. “Great job there, Cas. ’Cause what you did didn’t hurt _at all._ ”

“It hurt me, too,” Cas exhales.

Dean’s vision blurs. “How dare you!”

“It would’ve been so much worse if you had been sent to the Bottoms, Dean.”

Dean freezes. “What?”

“Our friendship would’ve made us targets . . . and I couldn’t let that happen to you.” Cas hugs himself, and he looks so vulnerable now, in need of comfort, like the old Cas when he’d wonder why Naomi would speak harshly to him. His blue eyes shine so earnestly that, even with his doubts, Dean instinctively believes him.

All these years, Cas has had to live with himself, with what he did to their friendship . . .

He may have pasted on the façade of an emotionless warrior, but crumbling in front of Dean, here and now, he’s anything but that.

He’s the Cas Dean had loved for his whole life—has loved and still loves, he must admit. Just as much as he loves Mom and Dad and Sammy.

Because he’s always been family, even if his feelings for Cas had morphed into something different as they’d grown older. He remembers back when he was sixteen, when he’d first realized that Cas had somehow become _hot_ , how he hadn’t been sure whether to share that thought with Cas or keep it to himself. How he’d wanted to take their friendship a step further, seal their lips together when Cas needed comfort.

Then Cas had squashed all those feelings that afternoon and ripped them apart forever.

And now he knows that Cas had valued Dean just as much, had made an excruciating decision because he cared so much.—

And he still cares. He’s haunted by his actions, what he allowed himself to become after pushing Dean away, and he’s alone with it all.

Dean’s heart swells at the thought.

“Cas,” Dean breathes. He envelops Cas in his arms, cradling him close, kissing his hair briefly before resting his chin atop his head.

Cas sobs, finally, his body wracked by emotion. Dean strokes a hand through Cas’s hair, and he gradually melts into Dean’s embrace.

When the tears dry up, Dean urges him to lie down then covers him with a blanket and wishes him a good night.

When Castiel wakes, Dean’s eyes drift to him. He finishes chewing a bite of bacon before gesturing at a plate on Castiel’s desk. The biscuits and bacon smell good, but Castiel’s stomach feels queasy.

“Mornin’,” Dean mumbles. “Got you somethin’ to eat.”

Castiel runs a hand through his hair, exhausted. He wants to do nothing but cower in his cot, but he has to face the day. He blinks the grit out of his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Dean shovels more bacon into his mouth and talks while he chews. Castiel grimaces at the sight. “You still need to eat.”

Castiel clutches at his stomach, attempting to hold a spell of dizziness at bay. He lost control last night, and he’s ashamed of himself for it. He directs his gaze somewhere around Dean’s knees and croaks, “I’m sorry for what happened last night. I wasn’t myself.”

Dean drops his fork on his plate. After a minute of uneasy silence, Castiel dares to meet Dean’s eyes. They’re inscrutable. “Cas—” Dean starts, tone chastising.

“We can forget it ever happened,” Castiel beseeches.

Dean sets his empty plate on the desk and turns back to him, eyes hard. “No.”

“Dean—” Castiel pleads.

“You were more yourself than I’ve ever seen you. Not since we were sixteen, anyway. More than you’ve been in ten years, I’d bet.”

“But—”

“Don’t apologize for it. Please.” Dean’s voice breaks slightly on the last word, and love surges in Castiel’s heart. “I did miss you, y’know.” He fidgets, twisting his hands in knots. “I told myself it was dumb, that you were nothing but a dick angel, but . . . you’re not.” Dean’s eyes water, and he blinks to clear them. “And I’m glad. Glad we met again, too.”

“I’m glad we met again as well,” Castiel confesses. And he is, even if he doesn’t know what to do with himself now. He has to stay neutral, act like the other angels.

But he’s different than them.

Mother has always berated him for having a crack in his chassis. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, why he can’t be like his peers, but he doesn’t regret it.

Life would be so . . . colorless without emotions.

As it has been for the past ten years. Yes, now that he’s opened the floodgates, the guilt for everything he’s done presses insistently at him, but he also feels as if he’s been brought back to life.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself for the coming day. “I must go. I do not want to risk being late for the meeting with Zachariah.”

“Okay,” Dean replies. Nervously, he adds, “See you later, yeah?”

Castiel smiles. “Yes.”

As soon as he steps out of the tent, he tamps down the grin. He strolls toward Zachariah’s command tent, where he and Zachariah’s other underlings will meet. Inside, he finds Samandriel alone.

“Hello, Castiel,” Samandriel says.

“Hello,” Castiel responds, wincing at how awkwardly the word comes out.

Samandriel frowns. “Are you all right?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You seem . . . different somehow.”

“Oh.” His façade must not be convincing. He knows Samandriel will keep any suspicions to himself, but he won’t be so lucky with the others. He must try harder.

Soon, Rachel, Uriel, Hester, and Zachariah arrive. “Hester, what news have you heard of the campaign against Lucifer?” Zachariah begins.

“President Michael’s forces are poised to attack soon. Lucifer’s army has moved into an uninhabited stretch of land. It’s the perfect ground to prevent civilian casualties.”

“Excellent. What about the rebels, Rachel?”

“Their numbers have held steady.”

“Good. We march toward them in three days.” Castiel’s stomach lurches at the thought. The rebels’ numbers dwarf theirs, and the ensuing skirmish (if it can even be called that) promises to be a bloodbath.

“Finally,” Uriel mumbles under his breath.

“So soon?” Samandriel ventures. “Are the fresh recruits ready yet?”

“They better be,” Zachariah declares.

“Besides,” Uriel adds, “we have numbers on our side. We’d win even without our human foot soldiers.”

“Indeed,” Zachariah concurs. “Now. Your assignments. Castiel.” Castiel jumps at the sound of his name. “You will lead the vanguard.”

“M—m—me?” Castiel stutters.

“Yes.” Zachariah raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, sir.”

Oh, God. If he’s at the forefront, then he’ll be responsible for more human deaths than the other angels.

The rebels don’t deserve to be slaughtered. They just want the same rights angels already enjoy, like the option to pursue an advanced education. He remembers Sam, how much brighter he is than many of the angels he’s known throughout his life.

Would Dean be ready to carry out whatever his orders might be? Castiel doubts it. Dean might have been nonchalant about joining the army, but he probably sympathizes with the rebels. He could be punished for treason. Shot—or worse.

Dean will need to mentally prepare himself for what’s ahead. Castiel will ensure he safely endures it.

After a day of training, Dean returns to the tent and finds it empty. Good. He digs through Cas’s things and finds a few sketches of potential battle formations. They’ll be useful to have. He copies them as quickly as he can then draws what he recalls of the camp’s layout.

Cas stumbles into the tent long after dinner. He seems tense. “Cas?” Dean voices. “You all right, buddy?”

“I don’t know,” Cas rasps. His eyes gleam with panic. “We move against the rebels soon.”

“When?”

“We’ll depart in three days, I think.”

Shit. That means Dean needs to leave tonight if he’s to give Sam and the others enough advance warning. His heart sinks at the thought. He wishes he could spend a little more time with Cas, now that he’s back to being himself.

Cas collapses on the cot opposite Dean’s. His hands are trembling, Dean notices. “I don’t want to do it, Dean.”

“What?” Dean replies, though he’s sure he knows.

“Hurt any more innocent people.”

Dean moves on instinct, migrating to Cas’s cot and grabbing his hands. He rubs a thumb over the knuckles on one hand. “It’ll be okay, Cas.”

“I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t,” Cas sighs.

For a brief second, Dean considers whether he should let Cas in on his plan. He feels guilty for using Cas now that he knows the truth behind what happened ten years ago. Now that he’s seen the real Cas scrabble his way up to the surface. When Dean returns to his compatriots, he doesn’t want Cas to think their reunion had meant nothing to him.

But it’s one thing not to want to engage the rebels; it’s another to join them. Cas probably wouldn’t wish to fight his fellow angels, either.

“You’ll do the right thing,” Dean asserts, knowing the words are empty.

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. I’m programmed to obey.”

Programmed? Okay, Dean hates that word choice. “You know you can make your own decisions.”

“I’m not sure I know how to make the right one. Not on my own. To my fellow angels, there’s too much heart in what I think. And to humans . . . with you . . . I just wind up screwing things up.”

Dean’s hand stills in his friend’s. “Cas . . . ” He doesn’t know what to say, just that he doesn’t like seeing the angel so dejected.

Cas snatches his hand away. “I did what I thought was best back then, you realize. Maybe it was wrong, maybe not. I don’t know . . . but I do know that I loved you, Dean.” He blushes. “So much.” Dean’s heart leaps into his throat. _Loved me how?_ “I still do, I think . . . ” Cas lowers his eyes as if he’s just admitted to something disgraceful and presents his back to Dean.

“Cas . . . ” Dean wants Cas to know, _needs_ Cas to know, that he cares, too. He grabs Cas’s shoulder and gently spins him around. Cas’s eyes are wide and expressive in the lantern light, his lips plush and inviting . . . He’s gonna give Cas something, if he wants it. Show him how much their time together has meant to him so when he’s gone, Cas remembers how Dean feels about him.

And okay, he’s not completely unselfish.—He’s gonna take for himself, too.

Gripping Cas’s shoulders, he leans in and brushes his lips over the angel’s. The contact is slight, the movement slow. Eventually, Cas pulls back, puzzled eyes mere inches from Dean’s.

Dean feels himself redden. “Um, was that all right?”

Cas nods. “Very much so.” Dean dives in for another taste, but Cas pushes him back and squints. “But what was it for?”

“Um.” Cas can’t be that clueless, surely? “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

 _Oh, my God_. Dean rolls his eyes. “What does it usually mean?”

“That the initiator harbors romantic feelings for the other party.”

Damn, when Cas puts it like that . . . it sounds daunting. “There ya go.”

“But you can’t.”

Now Dean’s miffed. What right does Cas have to assume how he feels? “Why not?”

“I was so awful to you, Dean.”

“Yeah. But we’re letting bygones be bygones. Like I said the other day.” And Dean means it this time. “I want this. Um, if you do.”

“Yes,” Cas replies, ever matter-of-fact. “But I cannot fathom—”

“Just go with it, Cas.” He presses his lips to Cas’s, and this time, Cas gives in. He coaxes Cas into lying down and straddles him. He notices that Cas’s wings are stretched out, the tips dragging across the floor.

They really are breathtaking, now that Dean takes the opportunity to appreciate the lush jet black feathers. There’s an iridescence to them that Dean swears other angels’ wings don’t have.

“You can touch them, if you like,” Cas murmurs. So, Cas had caught him staring. He blushes.

“Um . . . ” There’s a purity to the wings, an instinctive reverence Dean has for them, and he doesn’t want to ruin them with his grubby hands.

“Dean,” Cas urges.

With one hand, Dean caresses the edges of a wing, and Cas shivers beneath him. Underneath his thigh, he feels Cas’s dick harden though the layers between them.

Dean can’t help smirking. “That turns you on, huh?”

“Yes. I believe you would call it an angel thing.”

Hmm. Seems like a fatal weakness. If angels can get all hot and bothered when you touch their wings, maybe you could distract them—

“It only works if the angel bears affection for the other party,” Cas explains.

“Affection, huh?” Dean mutters. Wouldn’t it be awkward if you popped a boner when hugging your mom?

“Yes, of the . . . romantic kind.”

“Oh,” Dean exhales.

He thrusts his hips against Cas’s experimentally, and Cas moans.

Dean worships Cas with his hands. Gradually, they shed their layers until their skin melds together. Dean notes the wing-shaped scars on Cas’s lower back and hip, and he runs his lips over them. Fuck those angels for punishing Cas.

Cas spreads his legs, and Dean kneels between them. He wraps a hand around Cas’s cock and his own. He jerks them off simultaneously, rubbing their dicks together.

 _Fuck that feels so good_.

A wanton groan bubbles up from Cas’s throat, and Dean’s dick perks up even more at the sound. He buries his free hand in one of Cas’s wings, tugging at it in time with the movement of the hand wrapped around their cocks.

“Cas, I’m gonna—” Dean pants.

“ _Yes_.”

Dean’s eyes meet Cas’s, and he spills cum all over his hand, the cot, and Cas’s legs. His other hand involuntarily tightens in Cas’s wing, twisting a few feathers. At that, Cas comes with a shout.

Dean grabs a random piece of clothing from the floor, wipes them both off, and tosses the article back down. He snuggles against Cas’s side, sated, basking in the afterglow.

He’ll try not to think about how this can’t last.

Eventually, Cas’s breathing evens out. He’s asleep. Good. Now Dean can go.

For a long minute, Dean studies the angel who’s burrowed into his heart. Then he carefully moves the arm Cas had snaked around his shoulders and stands up. Before he gets dressed, he glances at Cas to make sure he’s still asleep.

He composes a note to Sam and stuffs his things into his bag.

Just as he throws open the tent flap—

“Dean,” a stern voice calls.

Dean drops the flap, whirls around, and freezes.

Cas is standing next to his cot, stark naked, his wings fully extended.

It might be the most intimidating thing he’s ever seen.

Castiel had known Dean was scheming. His tender behavior had to conceal a secret.

And the sex.

It had felt as if Dean had been trying to create a distraction.

A pleasant distraction, yes.

But there was no way Dean would wish to engage in intercourse with him, not with how he’d torn them apart all those years ago. Castiel still can’t forgive himself for it sometimes, so why would Dean?

He had fooled Dean into thinking he was asleep, a tactic he’d learned at Garrison Military Academy.

Castiel is unmindful of his nudity; all that matters is deducing Dean’s agenda. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“Um. To take a piss?” Dean answers.

“With all of your belongings?”

Dean glances down at the bag and chuckles uneasily. “You never know when you might need something.”

“As you would say: bullshit.”

Dean flinches. Castiel strides toward him, and Dean shrinks against the side of the tent. “You will tell me what you are doing.”

“Or what?” Dean challenges, voice trembling slightly.

“Or I shall report you to Zachariah. And you do not want that.” Humans know well enough to be afraid of classical angel “interrogation tactics,” and Zachariah is notorious for them.

He could never turn Dean over to Zachariah, of course, but Dean doesn’t know that.

“No, please,” Dean gasps.

He clutches Dean’s bicep and stares at him, schooling his face into neutrality. “Then tell me what you are doing.”

“Um. Deserting.” Dean nods to himself as if settling a question. He’s clearly lying. “Yeah. Like you said, I don’t really feel comfortable fighting the rebels, so . . . ”

The rebels? Could Dean be? . . . Perhaps. It would explain his behavior tonight. It has all been a ploy to gain his trust, nothing more.

Castiel’s heart lurches in disappointment.

“You’re with the rebels, aren’t you?” Castiel concludes.

Dean forces out a laugh. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“It’s obvious. It’s why you pretended to forgive me.”

“No, Cas, I didn’t—” Castiel raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Okay. You’re right. I’m working for the rebels. But, Cas, I never lied.—”

“There is no need to carry on with the ruse, Dean.”

“But, Cas, it’s not—maybe in the beginning, yeah, I was pretending, okay? But not since . . . not since last night. Cas, I lo—I mean. Tonight was real. It meant so much to me.—”

Castiel snorts. “You expect me to believe that you happily engaged in sexual activity with a monster?”

“Cas, you’re not a monster.—”

“That’s what you rebels think, isn’t it? That all angels are monsters.”

“Most of you, yeah. But you’re different, Cas.”

He winces, remembering an afternoon when Dean had brokenly begged him with similar words.

“All angels are not monstrous,” Castiel asserts.

“Yeah, like I said—”

“Not just me,” Castiel realizes. There are so many good ones, ones who don’t have a cruel disposition—like Samandriel. It’s just that they’ve been in thrall to the leaders for so long, obeying out of fear.

It’s the leaders who are monstrous. Those at the top of every echelon, like Zachariah and Raphael. Even President Michael.

If their yoke can be overthrown, perhaps some angels will stop suppressing their kinder selves.

“We are not all the same,” Castiel repeats. He’s been fretting over making the right decision, and now this third option has miraculously materialized. “Let me come with you.”

“What?”

“I wish to join the rebels. I will help in every way I can. As long as we keep the casualties low. If we . . . I can show you that we’re not all monstrous if we depose those at the top.”

“You can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Um . . .”

“You have no valid reason not to take me.”

“The others won’t trust you.”

“Do you?”

Dean nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then take me.” Dean looks uncertain. “You said that everything tonight—that you meant it.”

“Yeah.”

“If that is true—” Castiel knows this argument is unfair and irrational, but he wants to believe Dean more than anything. “—If that is true, then let me come with you.”

“Okay,” Dean breathes after a minute.

“Let me gather a few things.” He strides toward his trunk, and Dean follows him. “We need weapons.”

“We’ve got weapons at our headquarters.”

“Not effective ones.”

“We have swords and knives. Even guns. What more do we need?”

“All useless.” Dean gapes at him, and Castiel continues, “Only two substances can harm angels. Eden steel.—”

“That’s why it’s so expensive!” Dean exclaims.

“Yes. And why humans cannot acquire it through legitimate means. A cut anywhere on an angel’s body, as long as it’s deep enough, will force grace to leak out and can lead to death if left untreated. ” He throws the trunk lid open and picks up a vial. “And holy oil. Simply pour this in a circle, light it, and all angels inside the ring of fire cannot get out. Its very touch can also severely burn an angel’s skin.” Dean is quiet, staring down into the trunk. “Did you hear me, Dean? I was telling you something important.”

“You still have that,” Dean observes.

Castiel’s eyes migrate to the contents of his trunk. “What?”

“That.” Dean points at the stuffed bee lying among the daggers. “The bee Mom gave you.”

“Yes.” He still loves it, too, odd as that might seem.

“Lemme show you something.” Dean draws a wooden box from his coat pocket and opens it. Inside is a single blonde feather.

“My feather,” Castiel marvels. He remembers when Dean had accidentally pulled it out, how worried he’d been. “You still have it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Why?” He cannot comprehend what would make Dean keep something that probably brought him pain.

Dean shrugs and smiles grimly. “Couldn’t let it go, I guess. Just like I couldn’t let you go.” Castiel’s eyes water, and Dean dabs at his eyes. “Okay. Enough girly crap. We’ve gotta be long gone by morning.”

“Yes.”

After gathering a few weapons, Castiel tugs on his underwear and pants. His shirt is soiled with cum, so he finds another one to slip on. He grabs one of his bags, dumps out its contents, and stuffs the weapons inside along with the bee and several articles of clothing. He straps on his sword, and they advance into the night.

“Gotta send a message first. There’s a pigeon in the forest,” Dean declares.

“All right.”

The walk is uneventful until they bump into Hester, who’s immediately suspicious. “What are you doing out so late, Castiel?”

 _Turn the conversation around_. “I could ask the same of you.”

“President Michael sent us an update about the campaign against Lucifer. The troops are holding strong. Now, pray tell, what is your business?”

Castiel throws an arm across Dean’s shoulders. “My human needed to urinate.” He feels Dean bristle at the words, and he squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

“The latrines are the other way.”

“Oh. I must have gotten confused.”

“Really,” Hester says flatly.

“Yes. Come, Dean.” They stroll toward the latrines. After a few minutes, Castiel glances behind them. Hester is gone.

As they resume their original course, Dean declares, “I don’t think she bought it.”

A chill circulates through Castiel’s body. “No.” He swallows. “Let’s make a dash for it. It will not take Hester long to round up reinforcements.”

“Okay.”

They sprint, but soon Uriel shouts, “Stop!” Castiel can outrun them, or even fly, but Dean will not be able to. Humans are not as fast as angels.

One of them has to make it to the rebels, and it must be Dean. They will not trust Castiel. Besides, he cannot bear the thought of Dean being tortured.

He tosses his bag to the ground and kicks it toward Dean. “Take that.”

Dean stops and eyes the bag. “What?”

“Take it to the rebels.”

“But—”

As the angels draw nearer, Castiel brandishes his sword and turns to face them. “Go!” he yells.

“But, Cas—”

“I said go!” Castiel shouts as he parries Uriel’s first strike.

Hester’s there, too, and a couple of angels he’s unfamiliar with. He cannot best four angels in a fight, but he can distract them long enough for Dean to escape.

“Get away from him!” Dean screeches, his voice too close. Hester attempts to snatch at him, but Castiel blocks her.

“Go!” Castiel pleads again. “They need you, Dean.”

By the time the angels have disarmed him, Dean is gone. Into the forest, hopefully. The angels will not be able to spot him from the air with the trees as cover.

“Well, well, well,” Uriel chides as Castiel, who’s fallen to his knees, catches his breath. One of the angels he doesn’t know slaps handcuffs around his wrists, which another angel had yanked behind his back. Eden steel, and infused with holy oil. His wrists are on fire, and he’s too weak to fight back. “What is this? Colluding with the rebels? I knew you were eccentric, but a traitor? Even I couldn’t have guessed.”

“I am not a traitor,” Castiel hisses. He is loyal to his country. If the rebels win, they can save Seraphim.

“So you were not going to join the rebels?”

“Where would you get such an idea?”

“Tsk. You’re hedging.”

“Let’s take him to Zachariah,” Hester inserts. “He’ll need to be interrogated about the rebels’ plans. We had spies in our own camp, and Rachel failed to find them. Typical.”

“I _told_ Zachariah I should’ve been put in charge of recon.”

One of the angels claps a rag over Castiel’s nose and mouth. It’s soaked in holy oil.

Burning, then darkness.

Dean hates that he left Cas behind, but Cas had been right. The mission is bigger than them. Humanity’s future in Seraphim depends on the rebels, and without Dean, they won’t have enough knowledge to seriously challenge the angels.

The dicks will probably do more than stamp their little wing brand on Cas, though.

They’ll kill him, or worse. Torture him. Send him to the Bottoms—and Lord knows what the angels get up to there. Dean still can’t believe it’s real. At the same time, it doesn’t surprise him.

They’ll destroy Cas in both body and soul.

Dean clutches at his chest, gagging. He sinks onto the ground for a minute, focusing on the lone stars that twinkle between the spaces in the forest canopy.

He forces himself to keep moving and finds the dovecote. After sending a message to Sammy, he shuffles on, weighed down by two bags and the knowledge that he’d let the angels capture Cas.

Cas had been doing well in the fight, but no way could he have won. The odds against him had been too strong.

Dean pulls his coat tighter around himself to fight the chill, but it doesn’t alleviate any of the disquiet in his heart.

Not long after the sun comes up, his stomach growls. He pulls out a hunk of bread and tears off a bite with his teeth. It tastes like ashes. He coughs up the half-chewed remnants and shoves the bread back into his bag.

He resumes his trek, but his vision clouds. He swipes at his cheeks, but as soon as he has a clear line of sight, his eyes water again.

His brain concocts endless scenarios for Cas, each one more horrific than the last.

Dousing Cas in holy oil so he feels like he’s in hell.

Cutting into him inch by inch, leaching away grace one molecule at a time, and him praying for the mercy of death.

And that’s just the start.

Maybe in the Bottoms, they poke and prod inside people’s heads—

Dean trips over a tree root and tumbles to the ground. He cannot muster the strength to do more than lie there, curling into himself and sobbing into his arm.

He’d left Cas back in the camp, alone with whatever terrible fate awaited him. He hadn’t made more than a halfhearted attempt to help, too shaken to do more than obey Cas and flee.

Cas had unearthed his true self, the one Dean has always known and loved.

He lost Cas after just getting him back.

Dean can’t stop weeping. The tears just keep coming, and he collapses into frantic hiccups.

Eventually, he decides, _Fuck that shit._

He needs to get his ass in gear. The sooner he makes it back to the rebels, the sooner they can raid the angels’ camp and rescue Cas.

_If there’s anything to rescue._

Oh, there will be. Those bastards will probably relish keeping Cas alive long enough to make him suffer.

It feels like he’s spinning, his vision flickering in and out, weird blank spots violently materializing and disappearing. A result of inhaling the holy oil, Castiel suspects.

“I think he’s waking up,” someone observes. Uriel?

“Finally,” he hears Zachariah reply. “Why’d you use so much of it?”

“We had to ensure he was adequately subdued.”

Zachariah shuffles over and leans down, meeting Castiel’s eyes with his menacing ones. “We’ve got _so_ much to talk about, Castiel.” A slap. “Wake up already!”

“Huh?” Castiel mumbles.

“We’ve got some questions for you. Let’s start with this. How long have you been in league with the rebels?”

“Since last night,” Castiel slurs.

Zachariah backhands him again. “Don’t be cute. Now tell me the truth.”

“I did.”

Zachariah picks up a sword lying on a nearby table. “You will talk.”

“Or what?” Castiel pants.

“You know what we do to those who do not cooperate.” With the blade, he traces a line over Castiel’s hairline, barely breaking his skin.

“And filthy traitors,” Uriel spits, drawing his own sword down Castiel’s cheek.

“You’ll get nothing from me,” Castiel grits out. He tastes blood in his mouth. Is that another effect of the holy oil?

Pain.

The solace of darkness doesn’t come soon enough.

When Castiel comes to, he’s seated in a chair. Uriel grabs a clump of hair and yanks his head back. He’s only endured minor abrasions so far except for when they’d spilled a drop of holy oil onto his skin.

“How much does Dean Winchester know about us?” Zachariah demands.

“I do not know.” Technically, he’s telling the truth, but he infers that Dean must have done a thorough job of gathering intelligence if he’d been ready to depart the camp.

“Are you sure about that answer?”

“Yes.”

Uriel clamps a rag over his face, and Zachariah pours water down its surface. He’s drowning. When the cloth is removed, he gulps down as much air as he can and coughs, the rapid pace of breathing too much for his body.

“How much intelligence did you pass on to Dean Winchester?”

“Wouldn’t you love to know,” Castiel snarls.

“Tsk. Uriel?” The rag blocks his nose and mouth again; then he’s drowning once more.

The cloth disappears, and he wheezes.

“You’re only bringing this upon yourself,” Zachariah declares.

Zachariah bombards him with questions, and each time, he refuses to answer. He drowns so many times that he loses consciousness.

Dean stumbles onto the rebels’ property around noon. About ten or so of them are ensconced in a dilapidated cabin that once served as someone’s vacation home. Their allies on nearby farms house more of their brethren.

Exhausted, Dean shuffles inside, tosses the bags to the floor, and collapses on the couch in the living room.

“Who goes there?” a familiar female voice demands. Dean jumps at the noise, and the woman steps into the room, gun pointed at him. A second later, she relaxes her stance. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Hiya, Charlie,” Dean greets. “Kinda a delayed response, don’t ya think? What if I’d been the enemy?”

Charlie flushes. “Sorry. I guess we’ve all gotten a little lackadaisical since Ruby came.”

“Ruby? Who’s Ruby?”

“Sam didn’t tell you?” Dean shakes his head. “I’ll let him do the honors. Be right back.” After a few minutes, she returns with Sammy and an unfamiliar brunette woman. “I’ll let you guys catch up,” she squeaks before scurrying away. Dean frowns. Why is she so antsy?

“Dean!” Sam exclaims, rushing to engulf Dean in a hug. “It’s so good to see you.” He studies Dean’s face for a minute. “What happened? Why have you been crying?”

“I haven’t been crying,” Dean scoffs.

The woman passes Sam a pocket mirror, who holds it out to Dean as he joins him on the couch. Dirt streaks his cheeks, reflecting the tracks of his earlier tears. Shit. He’ll need to wash that off.

“Well?” Sam prompts.

“Tell ya later,” Dean dismisses as he hands the mirror back to Sam. He eyes the strange woman seated in an armchair. “First, tell me who this is.”

“I’m Ruby,” the woman replies in a clipped tone. “I can be addressed directly, you know.”

“She’s an emissary from Lucifer,” Sam announces.

Dean stares, flabbergasted. Surely he’d misheard Sam. “Say what now?”

“We’ve decided to aid in your little quest against the angels,” Ruby explains. “We do have a common goal, after all.”

“Are you fucking insane, Sam?” Dean thunders. “Allying with Lucifer? Really? Do you know what he does to people? You know, humans like us? He steals their souls! Turns them into mindless soldiers!”

“Where’d you hear that?” Sam asks.

“Cas.”

“You know better than that, Dean. It’s all angel propaganda.”

“I assure you that I serve Lucifer of my own free will,” Ruby cuts in. “And he has improved me for the better. I used to be a mere human like you, but look what I can do now.” She waves her hand at one of Dean’s bags. It floats in the air for a minute before falling back to the floor.

“You’re a demon!” He’s heard that Lucifer can create creatures with the ability to practice magic, that he himself wields such power, but he’d never thought it could be true.

“You don’t have to make it sound like such a dirty word,” Ruby sniffs.

“Ruby, why don’t you give me some time alone with my brother,” Sam suggests. Ruby turns a steely gaze on him, and he assures her quietly, “I’ll get him to see reason.” _Reason, my ass. You’re_ _the one who needs to see reason._

“Okay,” Ruby sighs before leaving.

“Sam, we can’t tie ourselves to Lucifer. He’s ten times worse than President Michael.”

“Who told you that? Cas?” Dean nods. “He’s an angel, you know. We can’t trust anything he says.”

“But he’s _Cas_ ,” Dean protests.

Sam quirks an eyebrow. “So? He’s just like all the other ones. As you’ve mentioned yourself. One of your messages said he was the angel responsible for Stull?” Dean nods. “Which means he’s a monster.”

“No, he’s not like that, Sammy. He didn’t . . . ” Dean remembers Cas’s crippling remorse, his nightmares. The _real_ Cas, the one he’d hidden away because it kept him from fitting in with the other angels. “That’s not him.”

Sam snorts. “If it wasn’t him, he wouldn’t have done it.”

“He was scared, Sammy.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Dammit. He’d taught Sam that uncompromising view, but it’s wrong. Oh, how wrong he’d been. He can’t bring himself to confess what Cas admitted about the Bottoms, his fear for Dean, how his big heart had led him to pursue a path of heartlessness.

“It’s complicated.”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten me.”

Dean chews his lip and shakes his head minutely. He can’t say his thoughts aloud. “He’s on our side, Sam,” he declares instead.

“Oh, yeah? And why do you think that?”

“He was gonna come with me.”

“Fuck, he knows about us? How much did you tell him?!”

“He doesn’t know anything, Sammy. It all happened so fast, and . . . ”

“What, Dean? What happened?” Dean cringes at how annoyed Sam sounds.

“He was gonna come with me. But he . . . they got him.”

“You’re not making any sense, Dean.”

“I was gonna bring him. But the angels came after us, and they caught him.”

Sam gives Dean a skeptical look. “Are you sure he wasn’t gaming you, Dean? Just getting dirt to give the angels?”

“Then why the fuck would he let me get away?!”

Sam shrugs. “It’s a long con. He does just enough to make you feel secure, but when we attack their camp, they’re prepared for us. How much did you tell him about our plans?”

“Nothing!”

“He sure did a number on you.”

“No, he was being honest. He gave us weapons to use against the angels.” He opens Cas’s bag and pulls out the holy oil. “Like this. And swords of Eden steel. Did you know they’re the only things you can use against angels?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean. Ruby told us. And she brought us supplies from Lucifer.”

“Why on earth would you trust Lucifer?”

“Why would you trust Cas?”

“I know him!” Dean shouts, exasperated. “Do we know jackshit about Lucifer? No.”

“But do you really? It’s been ten years, Dean.”

“You don’t know what it was like, Sammy.”

“What’s with the sudden about face?” Sam frowns. “He seduce you or something?”

Dean’s blood runs ice cold. “What?”

“I’m not stupid, Dean. You had a crush on him when we were younger. But then you guys stopped talking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“So? Did you sleep with him or what?”

“Fuck off, Sammy!”

“You did,” Sam marvels. He stands up. “Don’t let sex blind you.” He strolls out of the room.

_Fuck you. You don’t know what it was like._

As Dean shoves the holy oil back into Cas’s bag, he catches a glimpse of the stuffed bee. A lump lodges itself in his throat.

Castiel does not know how long Zachariah has been interrogating him. It feels like eons. He prays he can stay strong. At least he doesn’t know enough about the rebels’ plans to give up much of anything.

“If you love the mud monkeys so much, then you won’t mind if you lose a little grace,” Uriel taunts.

Castiel blinks awake and notices a line of angels extending out past the entrance to the tent. Each one has an angel blade in hand.

“A suitable punishment for the likes of you,” Zachariah announces as he plunges his sword deep into one of his wings, twisting and turning gleefully. Castiel screams, and he laughs.

“Uriel? You’re next,” Zachariah calls.

Every angel takes a turn, most desecrating his feathers, a few going for the neck and face. He can feel his essence slipping away, and a hazy blue light coats his vision.

When Samandriel reaches the front of the line, he pauses. He raises his blade, hand trembling.

“What are you waiting for?” Zachariah barks.

Samandriel casts an uncertain look at Castiel. He tries to reassure Samandriel, but his chapped lips barely move, cracking with the attempt to round out his mouth. He meets Samandriel’s eyes and nods, _it’s okay._ He doesn’t want Samandriel to suffer, too.

Samandriel’s grip tightens around the handle, his countenance a study in resolve. But the mask slips a second later as he steps back.

“I can’t do it,” Samandriel utters.

“He’s a traitor.”

“I just can’t,” Samandriel sobs.

Zachariah calls for Samandriel to be handcuffed, taken away, and kept under guard.

_No, not him, too. Just give him a demerit, please, nothing more._

He detaches his mind from his body, compartmentalizing the pain, trying to suppress it as he’d once tamped down on his conscience.

And now here’s Rachel, her hand wavering.

“Do it!” Zachariah commands.

“He was my friend,” Rachel replies. Castiel startles at the admission. He’s always found Rachel pleasant company, but he’d never dreamed she cared about him enough to call him a friend.

“Do you wish to join Samandriel?”

Rachel shakes her head then turns to Castiel, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry,” she mouths so that no one but Castiel can see. He tries to tell her it’s all right through his eyes, but no doubt it is a fruitless endeavor.

She aims for his side, tries to find a spot with cushioning.

 _I’m probably going to die after this_.

But no. That would be too easy.

Once all the other angels are gone, Uriel soaks a towel in something and applies it to all of Castiel’s wounds. They seal over instantaneously. What is this odd substance? Surely he should’ve heard of something that can facilitate healing so easily.

Who knows how long those in charge have been hoarding it? And they use it only to extend torture sessions.

If he hadn’t already concluded the status quo is wrong, that fact alone would make him certain.

Dean’s been back for only a day, and the others are already insisting he pitch in with the chores. For over an hour, Benny bugs him to retrieve water from the well, and he eventually gives in.

He trots toward the well and prepares the bucket. He’s just lowered the bucket into the ground when he hears approaching footsteps. He recognizes the voices of Sam and Charlie. One of them says his name, and he ducks behind the well so they won’t spot him. Yeah, eavesdropping is kinda shady, but why’re they talking about him?

“I don’t understand why Dean changed his mind,” Charlie comments. “Before he joined the army, he would go on and on about how the angels are not to be trusted as a species and how we could never get along. Castiel was always an example of why angels couldn’t be our friends.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies. “Dean and Cas were close, growing up. When Cas broke off their friendship, that’s when his hatred for all of angel-kind began. We’ve always resented them, y’know, the government at least, because of what happened to Dad.” Above the lip of the well, Dean sees Charlie nod. “Then he ran into Cas again in the army . . . you know what his first letters to me were like?”

“What?”

“He railed about how Cas was still just like the rest of ’em. He even told me about some of the awful things Cas did. Like Stull.”

“Shit. He was responsible for that?”

“Yeah.” _No._ Dean clenches his hands into fists. Okay, so Cas had committed atrocities, but only because of how trapped he’d felt by the system. The Cas who’d done that stuff . . . it had been a hollowed-out version of his friend.

“So why’d he try to bring Cas back with him?”

Sam shrugs. “I dunno. Cas must’ve brainwashed him somehow . . . ”

“He hates Ruby.” _Damn right I do._

Sam looks uncomfortable. “Yeah. He’s jumping to conclusions without even getting to know her, all because of some bullshit Cas told him. You know how helpful she’s been to us.”

“Believe me, we’re all grateful. I swear my combat skills have gotten ten times better since she started training us.” Ruby’s been giving the rebels lessons?!

“I hate to say it, but I’m not sure how much we can trust Dean’s judgment right now. Not with his mind warped by whatever Cas did to him.”

_Yeah, and you guys aren’t brainwashed by Ruby. Right._

As Sam and Charlie stroll past the well, Dean slides to the other side so he’s out of their line of sight.

He’d show them. He’d show everyone the truth once they took over the angel camp.

“It’s been two days,” Zachariah pronounces. _That’s it?_ “Had enough yet, Castiel?”

His lips are caked in blood. He’s chained to the chair; not that it matters. He couldn’t move even if his limbs were free.

Zachariah reaches deep into Castiel’s feathers and yanks one out. A stab of pain, the sensation of blood trickling down, another patch to join the dried-out clots dotting his wings. “If you tell us what you’ve blabbed to the rebels, we might show mercy.” Zachariah smirks. “Of course, you’ve already proved yourself a traitor. It’s the Bottoms for you, my boy, but we’ll go easier on you if you cooperate.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Pity,” Zachariah sighs, studying his fingernails. He glances up, eyes meeting Castiel’s as he continues. “Well, as they say. Like father, like son.”

The words send a jolt through Castiel’s body. “What are you talking about?” he manages to rasp.

Zachariah smirks. “Do you not know what became of Inias Grace?”

“Died. Fighting Lucifer.”

“Oh, is _that_ what your mother told you? Hmm. She could hardly tell you the truth, I suppose. No, Castiel. He’s dead, yes, but he didn’t die any hero. Once the Bottoms were finished with him . . . ” No. His father did not end up in the Bottoms. Why would he? Zachariah is just taunting him.

“And you know the best part?” Zachariah gushes. “You know who conducted mind control experiments on him? _Naomi_. She did that. To _her own husband_.”

“No,” Castiel protests weakly.

“ _Yes!_ ” Zachariah cackles as he forces Castiel’s eyes open and sticks an adhesive to his eyelids so he can’t close them. His eyes water. Burning. His vision warps, and he frantically wonders if he’ll be permanently blinded.

But after an eternity, an angel unclips his eyes and pours droplets into them. His vision returns to normal, but a searing pain radiates from his orbs to the back of his skull.

Sam is a hypocritical little shit. He accuses Dean of being duped by his feelings for Cas, yet it’s immediately obvious that he’s been sleeping with Ruby. Dean’s stomach twists at the thought. If the woman is being controlled by Lucifer, then there are consent issues. Dean likes to think Ruby was telling the truth, that maybe she did volunteer to serve Lucifer. He hopes so, anyway, for Sammy’s sake. There probably are a few people out there who would actually do that.

The leaders meet in the dining room: Dean, Sam, Charlie, and Benny. And Ruby, who’s apparently garnered everyone’s trust.

“Does she have to be here?” Dean complains, pointing a finger at Ruby.

“She’s been really helpful while you’ve been away,” Charlie puts in. “You have no idea.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

“She brought us a bunch of supplies from Lucifer,” Benny points out.

“Yeah, because allying ourselves to that asshat is a fantastic idea.”

“Dean, aren’t you the one who said we should consider it?” Sam interjects. “Right before you enrolled in the army?”

Okay, so Dean had said that. But he’d been wrong. He recalls the petrified look in Cas’s eyes when he’d told Dean about Lucifer’s powers. “Yeah, well, now I know better. You didn’t see Cas’s expression when he told me about him. No way was he lyin’.”

Sam shrugs. “Maybe he actually believes the propaganda.”

“He’s _seen_ Lucifer in action, Sammy.”

“If Lucifer really wanted to do something to you guys, wouldn’t I have made a move by now?” Ruby retorts. “’Cause it’s not like I couldn’t overpower the lot of you. You’ve seen my power.” Yeah, and it freaks Dean the fuck out. “Lucifer is nothing like this Cas paints him. I remember when he came to my village. He gave all of us a choice. He demonstrated his abilities, and it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. He said that we could have those powers, too, that he wouldn’t hoard shit like the angels. And he held to his word.”

“What if I don’t want powers?” Dean grouses.

“Then you don’t have to get ’em. Everyone is equal in Hella, powers or no.”

If all the others are against him, Dean guesses he’ll just have to deal with Ruby. He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He takes out the map he’d drawn of the camp. “We’ll need to leave as soon as we can. Tonight. Luckily for us, the angels’ tents are concentrated in one place. Here.” Dean gestures at the relevant spot on the map. “We could use holy oil to make a fire circle. Then the angels won’t be able to escape, and we’ll be in control.”

“It’s as simple as all that?” Benny marvels.

“But how’re we gonna make a circle that big without the angels hearing us?” Charlie asks.

Ruby grins. “I can do it. You know how quiet I am.”

“Yeah.” Charlie turns to Dean. “You can’t hear her at all when she concentrates.”

“What’re we gonna do with the angels once we have the camp?” Benny inquires.

“Also, what if the human soldiers are loyal to the angels?” Charlie puts in.

Ruby snorts. “They don’t give a shit about the angels.”

“Then why’d they join the army in the first place?”

“Money,” Sam answers.

“They’ll get on board once the tide has turned,” Ruby continues. “If anyone has any second thoughts, I’ll just give them a demonstration.”

“Okay, so what’re we gonna do with the angels?” Benny asks again.

“Kill them?” Sam suggests.

“No,” Dean automatically replies. It’s the last promise he’d made to Cas, that he’d try to keep casualties at a minimum.

“Are you serious?”

“I mean, if they give us any trouble, of course we should kill ’em.” _And if they’re one of the bastards torturing Cas._ “Otherwise, no.”

“They’re too dangerous for us to just keep them as prisoners, Dean.”

“But we need some angels on our side.” Dean’s as surprised as everyone else at what comes out of his mouth. Cas had claimed that not all angels are dicks. Dean’s not sure if he believes that, but Cas deserves a chance to try to prove him wrong.

“Say what now?” Benny blurts.

“Uh. Yeah.” Everyone’s giving him strange looks, so he spitballs some bullshit excuse. “Because, you know. They’re more powerful than us. So if President Michael brings his giant army against us, they’ll be useful. Or, like, maybe the other angels might even listen to us if they know we’re not out just to kill ’em.”

“Are. You. Serious?” Sam pronounces. Dean shrugs. He probably does sound like a moron.

“Why would any angel join us?” Charlie posits. “They enjoy their privileges.”

“Cas was going to,” Dean says softly.

“Cas?” Benny sputters. “That dick angel you grew up with?”

“He’s not a dick!”

“Whoa. Let’s not get carried away,” Charlie cautions. She eyes Dean meaningfully. “But from what you’ve told us, he did treat you like crap.”

“He had his reasons.”

“Like what?” Benny counters.

Dean’s not gonna share that. It’s private, and if the others ridicule him for believing Cas’s excuses, he doesn’t think he can take it.

“Fine. We won’t kill the angels who don’t resist,” Sam decides. The others nod, and it hurts that they’ll listen to Sam and not him.

An inscrutable grin blooms on Ruby’s lips. Fuck her. He hates that she just heard all this personal shit.

The rebels traipse through the woods for the next day and a half. When they finally reach the vicinity of the angels’ camp, they discuss what their next move will be. Lucifer had supplied Ruby with four pairs of Eden steel handcuffs, which they can coat with holy oil for maximum security. Four, however, will not be nearly enough. Dean argues that someone should raid the angels’ tents for more handcuffs before they execute their overarching plan, but everyone else is too cowardly to go for it. But they’re gonna need to do _something_ , eventually, unless they want to perpetually maintain holy fire circles.

They wait until a little after midnight to get started. They slip by the human guards easily. Dean leads Sam and Ruby to the angel area of camp. He and Sam watch as Ruby surrounds the section with holy oil. Just before she can light it, Dean steps over the line.

“Dean!” Sam whispers. “What’re you doing?”

Dean eyes Ruby. “Light it.”

“Come back first,” Sam hisses.

“No. I’ve gotta find Cas.” He’s around here somewhere, hurt, and Dean’s not gonna leave him alone with a bunch of angels who’ll probably murder him when they realize they’re trapped.

“Dean. Be reasonable.”

Dean turns back to Ruby. “Light it.”

Ruby smirks. “If you insist.” She touches a match to the holy oil, and Sam gapes at her.

Dean dashes off, grimacing at how loudly his boots pound the ground. He heads toward Cas’s tent first and curses when he finds it empty. How can he figure out which tent Cas is in? He proceeds with mincing steps, closing his eyes to focus on listening, searching for _anything_ that can help.

There. _That_. A groan.

He draws an angel blade from his hilt and darts toward the sound. As he draws closer, the yelps grow incrementally louder. At the tent, he peeks inside and almost drops the sword at the shock of what he sees.

A blonde female angel stands with arms crossed over her chest, wings spread out. On the other side, Uriel wields an angel blade, striking at the bare chest of an angel handcuffed to a chair.

 _Cas_.

Beaten, bruised _Cas_.

Blood drips in rivulets down his cheeks and stripes his torso. Holes dot his trousers.

His eyes are dull and bleak.

Most heartbreaking of all are his wings, which are covered by bare patches where feathers have been ripped out. Scabs litter their surface as well, and the remaining feathers appear diseased.

Dean raises his sword and charges toward Uriel. “You son of a bitch!” he shouts.

Uriel switches gears quickly, parrying Dean’s initial thrust.

Damn, the guy is speedy, skilled, and strong. The contest lasts forever, and Dean feels that his body is gradually giving in.

With one well-aimed strike, Uriel knocks Dean to his knees. “Did you really think you were a match for me?” he sneers. Uriel’s angel blade looms above him, and Dean knows his life is over.

“No!” Cas cries.

Cas’s voice provides Dean with the strength to dodge out of the way. Uriel winces when his blade hits the dirt. Dean lurches to his feet and stabs Uriel in the back.

Blue light explodes, momentarily blinding him. Uriel’s lifeless body falls to the ground, his wings fanning out behind him.

Dean turns to the angel woman next. She counters his strike easily.

“Stop,” Cas whimpers. “Not her, Dean.”

Dean freezes, and the woman mirrors him.

She’s the enemy, and she needs to go down.

Then again, she hadn’t interceded for Uriel. Maybe she’s one of the angels Cas had referred to; maybe she isn’t an enthusiastic supporter of the status quo.

The angel sheathes her sword and rushes toward Cas.

“Get away from him!” Dean screeches.

She doesn’t deign to answer. Dean’s about to attack her again, but then he notices that she’s undoing Cas’s handcuffs.

“I’m so sorry,” she sniffs. She picks up a bottle of something, rubs it over Cas’s scarred back, and turns toward Dean. “Help me.”

The wounds on Cas’s back seal before Dean’s eyes. What the fuck is that cream? Whatever. If it heals Cas, that’s all that matters.

He dips his hands into the salve and spreads it over Cas’s chest first. When he finishes with that, he cups Cas’s face. Their eyes meet as Dean strokes the gashes on his cheeks. The lifeless blue takes on a shade of vitality.

“Dean,” Cas rasps. “You came back.”

“’Course I did,” Dean says softly.

“They’ll destroy you,” Cas croaks, voice cracking.

“Shh. Don’t talk. You need rest.”

“We don’t have time,” Cas whispers.

“He’s not wrong,” the female angel cuts in.

Dean turns to her. “Yeah?”

“Zachariah’s going to return any minute now. If we can sneak out—”

“We can’t.”

“What? Why?”

Dean rubs his chin. “Um. We’ve surrounded the angel tents with holy oil and.—”

“A fire?” She rolls her eyes. “God. How could you be so stupid?”

“Hey now—”

“We have to think of something.”

“ _We_? Why should I trust you? You’re one of them!”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about Castiel—”

“If you cared, you would’ve stopped your dick friends!”

“It’s not that simple.—”

“Bullshit.”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts. He coughs before continuing. “I believe we can trust Rachel.”

Dean looks at Cas. “You sure?” Cas nods. “Fine,” Dean concludes. It’s probably not a good idea, but they don’t have many options, and Rachel’s had ample opportunity to harm them both by now.

Dean spreads the serum over the tops of Cas’s wings. A few of the scabs disappear, but the feathers remain brittle and dull. Dean frowns. “Why isn’t it working?”

Rachel bites her lip and looks like she wants to cry. “The wings will take longer to recover. They’ve been targeted more than other parts of his body.”

Dean bristles at the news. Of all the body parts, the wings are the most sensitive.

“With the holy fire surrounding us, we can’t just fly out of here,” Rachel observes.

“Samandriel,” Cas chokes out.

“Huh?” Dean mumbles.

“Once the angels realize the rebels are here, they’ll kill him.”

Rachel nods, wide-eyed. “That’s right. They’re already suspicious of him.”

Cas wraps a hand around Rachel’s wrist. “Go find him.”

“What about you?”

“Dean and I can handle it.” Rachel eyes him doubtfully. “Please.”

Rachel sighs. “Fine. Should I bring him back here?”

“Yes.”

After Rachel leaves, Dean muses aloud, “Okay, we need a plan for when Zachariah comes.”

Cas chews his lip as he thinks. “We could create a holy fire around ourselves. It would keep Zachariah out.”

Dean grimaces. “I think Ruby has all of the holy oil.”

“Ruby--?”

Someone enters the tent, and Dean spins around. Zachariah stands before them, gaping. Then he sneers. “Well, what do we have here?” Dean raises his angel blade. “You think you stand a chance against me?”

“We’ll find out.”

Dean rushes toward Zachariah, who ducks. Zachariah withdraws his own blade and aims it at Dean. He darts out of the way, but plants his foot awkwardly and stumbles. He lands on his back, and Zachariah looms above him.

“Zachariah,” Cas grits out. Zachariah turns to him. Cas holds a bottle in one hand, and he tosses its contents into Zachariah’s eyes. Zachariah screams when the holy oil burns them.

He charges Cas, shoving him into the chair. He digs his nails into Cas’s wings, and Cas shrieks at the pain. Dean swears Zachariah draws blood.

Dean points his sword at Zachariah’s back. Zachariah whirls around, relinquishing his grip on a trembling Cas. “I’ve indulged you enough,” Zachariah pronounces as he knocks the sword out of Dean’s hand. He skims Dean’s arm with his own blade, and Dean feels it break his skin. He stumbles backward and falls. Zachariah’s about to bury that thing in his heart, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can barely lift his arm.

Blue light explodes, blanketing the air as far as Dean can see. After the light fades away, Zachariah’s lifeless body lies beside him. He rolls his eyes up toward Cas, who’s gripping an angel blade in two shaking hands.

“Uriel’s,” Cas whispers before his legs buckle underneath him. Dean catches him with his good arm and gently lays him on his back. He desperately gulps down air.

“Hey, slow down,” Dean urges. “I think you’re cutting off your oxygen.”

Cas’s breaths become more deliberate, and they eventually steady.

“Good,” Dean encourages in a hushed voice.

“Thank you,” Cas gasps out.

“No, thank _you_. You saved my life.”

Cas grips Dean’s wrist. “I couldn’t . . . lose . . . ” He swallows. “Lose you again.”

Dean smiles down at Cas, unable to quell the swell of affection in his heart. But a moment later, Dean forces himself to snap out of it. “So, what do we do now?”

Cas takes a minute to gather his strength before he answers. “I don’t think anyone will come after Zachariah for a while. Let’s wait for Rachel and Samandriel.”

“Okay.”

Dean wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and tries to will his anxiety away.

It takes forever for Rachel to return with a fresh-faced angel in tow. When they notice Zachariah’s body, their eyes widen.

“You killed him?” Rachel shrieks.

“It’s not like we had a choice,” Dean snaps. “It was us or him.”

Rachel’s body lights up with nervous energy. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit. We’re so screwed.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Do you know that? Like, there’s no coming back from this. We’re dead either way. The rebels don’t trust us, and we’re traitors now.”

“I trust you,” Dean surprises himself by saying. “You’ve . . . you helped me free Cas.”

Samandriel shrugs. “They’d already damned me, anyway. At least I stand a chance with the rebels.”

“So what now?” Rachel asks. “What’re you rebels up to?”

“Sam should be turning the human army to our side,” Dean answers. With the angels incapacitated, the humans will find themselves without a leader, and the rebels had theorized that no one would believe in the status quo enough to put up much of a fight. After all, who _would_ fight to maintain an order in which you were treated as a second-class citizen?

“What about after that?”

Dean knows what Sam wants to do. Kill all the angels except Cas. But Dean had promised Cas he wouldn’t take that approach. They’ll use Eden steel, holy-oil-infused handcuffs to restrain the angels. They’ll execute only the angels who gave them trouble.

But how to do that without bringing the wrath of the entire angel army upon themselves? The people in this tent are the only ones who can be counted on; anyone else who can help is on the other side of the holy fire.

At least they have the time of day—or night, rather—on their side. Only a few angels are awake. “How many sentries are up?” Dean inquires.

“Usually about three,” Rachel replies.

“Wait a minute,” Cas interjects. “Who was guarding Samandriel? What’d you do to them?”

“Bartholomew. I used a rag doused with holy oil to knock him out.”

“He’ll wake up in about an hour.” Cas clears his throat and sits up. “Here’s what we should do. We need to subdue as many angels as we can before the alarm is sounded. Starting with Bartholomew and the guards. The army’s supply of Eden steel handcuffs is stored in here somewhere. As is the holy oil.” The other three nod their consensus.

“Okay,” Dean exhales. “Cas, you can wait here until we’re finished—”

“No.”

Dean does a double take. “What?”

“I’m helping.”

“But Cas, you can barely—”

Cas lumbers to his feet, and his legs wobble. “I refuse to be useless.”

“Cas—”

“We’re wasting time,” Rachel snips. “Just let him try.—”

Cas glares at her. “ _Try_?”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Yes, you can help. But we need to get started _now_.”

“Agreed,” Samandriel adds.

They decide that Rachel and Samandriel will tackle the angels who are awake since they stand the best chance against anyone who’s alert; then they’ll move on to sneaking into tents like Dean and Cas.

As Dean proceeds with his part of the mission, he can’t believe things are going so smoothly. But after handcuffing his seventh angel, he stumbles upon Cas lying in the grass.

“Cas? Buddy, you okay?”

Cas scowls up at him. “Oh, yes, I’m perfectly fine. I just decided to take a nap at this crucial time.”

So Cas has finally grasped sarcasm. Dean can’t help but snicker, but he sobers a minute later. “Told you you needed rest. Let’s get you outta here before someone notices.”

He drapes Cas’s arm around his shoulders and guides him back to the tent where Uriel’s and Zachariah’s bodies lie. When Cas notices their corpses, he recoils.

“I believe my tent is unoccupied. I would prefer to stay there. Please.”

Dean can’t blame him for that. “Okay.”

After helping Cas settle on his pallet, Dean steps outside to find himself confronted by an angel.

Shit. He’s been spotted.

The man darts for him, and Dean dodges only to be cornered a second later. The guy’s about to kill him when blue light explodes from his body. He falls forward, dead, and reveals Rachel standing behind him, sword poised.

“Thanks,” Dean gasps.

Rachel sheathes her sword and extends a hand. He accepts it gratefully. Once he’s regained his balance, she says, “It hurts my heart, killing my own kind. Colleagues. I hope you can appreciate that.”

He shrinks away from her gaze, the intensity of which reminds him of Cas. Is that an angel thing? He nods. “Yeah. I do,” he confirms.

“I’m doing this for Castiel.” She shudders. “I wish I’d been brave enough to stand up for him. Like Samandriel.” She wipes at the moisture leaking from her eyes. “I know the way things are, the world, it isn’t right. But it could be worse.”

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to make things better.”

She nods. “I suppose. I hope we succeed, Dean. I really do.” She pauses. “I finished my assignment. Samandriel has probably returned to the tent.”

Dean follows her back to the tent. Inside, Samandriel, stares at the dead bodies, his eyes haunted.

“I assume everyone has been taken care of?” Rachel ventures.

Dean begins to nod, but then he remembers something. “Wait. Maybe not. Cas, he, he’s not doing too well, and I’m not sure if he finished.”

“Is he all right?”

“He just needs rest.”

“Where is he?”

“In his tent.”

“I’ll take care of any remaining angels,” Samandriel interjects. “You two should go check on Cas.”

Dean and Rachel scurry to Cas’s tent, where they find the other angel semi-comatose. Cas’s eyes follow them lazily as they pace. When Samandriel finally joins them, they discuss their next move. They decide to put out the fire ring surrounding the angel section of camp. Only Dean can do it, for some sort of metaphysical force prevents angels from being able to snuff out the fire, presumably whatever keeps them from exiting the circle in the first place.

“The experiments . . . in the Bottoms,” Cas huffs. “They’re probably working on that problem.” Rachel and Samandriel look at Cas as if he’s crazy, but Dean knows better. He remembers the terror etched on Cas’s face, his body, when he’d confessed his reason for pushing Dean away.

Cas loses consciousness a minute later.

Castiel’s body has mostly healed, but his wings chafe and burn. He has a hard time comprehending his surroundings, and a sense of foreboding has settled deep in his gut.

“Cas? You awake?”

Castiel rolls his eyes upward to find Dean perched on a cushion beside his cot. In his tent. Outside, through a hole in the tent flap, Castiel notes the red and orange hues of dawn that paint the sky.

Last night’s events crash into his consciousness.

Dean had rescued him, which no doubt means the rebels have infiltrated the camp as well. Rather than helping Uriel defend himself, Rachel had merely stood by. Dean had raised an angel blade to stab Rachel when Castiel had found the strength to protest.

He recalls the despair that had filled his heart when Zachariah had been poised to stab Dean.

And he, himself, he—he saved Dean.

By killing Zachariah.

 _Killing Zachariah_. The angel in charge of the entire camp.

They’d use him for the most excruciating experiments in the Bottoms. And Dean—

“Cas? You all right?” Dean says. Only then does Castiel realize he’s whimpering.

Castiel tries to nod, but the movement disorients him. “They’re going to crucify us in the Bottoms, Dean—”

Dean smirks, green eyes glimmering with excitement. “Nothing’s gonna happen, Cas. We won.”

“We--?”

Dean’s lips blossom into a full smile. It’s a radiant sight. “The camp is ours.”

“The rebels—”

“We did it.”

“That is only the first step, you realize. When President Michael’s army finds out—”

“It’ll be fine.”

“No. Their numbers dwarf ours.—”

“Lucifer will take care of them.”

“Lucifer—” Something about Dean’s statement niggles him, like a recalcitrant loose tooth. “If Lucifer defeats President Michael, we’ll have to face him ourselves. And there’s no way—”

“We don’t have to worry about that.” Wariness infuses Dean’s air. “He’s our ally.—”

Castiel tries to sit up, but the motion makes him nauseous. He flops back onto the cot.

“Whoa. Take it easy, Cas,” Dean entreats.

Castiel glares at him. “Don’t tell me you were idiotic enough to form an agreement with Lucifer.”

Dean rubs at his chin nervously, and his gaze hops all over the tent but avoids Castiel. “I know it’s not ideal, but—”

“He cannot be trusted.”

Dean holds up a hand. “I know, I know. I had nothing to do with it. Sam—he made the arrangement while I was here, and everyone else is on his side.”

“Sam? He’s here?” Dean had told him his younger brother still resided in Lawrence. Upon reflection, Sam’s presence makes sense. Of course he would join the rebels, considering that the status quo has prevented him from achieving his full potential.

“Yeah,” Dean acknowledges.

As intelligent as Sam is, he should know that bargaining with Lucifer is dicey. Castiel holds that thought for the time being, however. The alliance has already been forged, and now they need to brainstorm contingency plans. “You know what Lucifer is like. What he’s capable of.”

“Uh huh.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and cringes as he continues, “But Lucifer sent one of his demons as an emissary. Ruby. She’s earned everyone’s trust somehow.”

“That is troubling.”

Dean snorts mirthlessly. “Tell me about it.” He licks his lips nervously. “We don’t have time to talk about it now, though. Everyone is supposed to meet in the center of camp at ten.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

Castiel sighs. “Okay. But I have reservations.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He studies Castiel. “Can you walk?”

“Probably.” Sitting up hurts, though. He gingerly places one foot on the ground then the other. When he stands, his knees buckle. Dean catches his shoulder before he falls back onto the cot.

“Whoa,” Dean mutters. He throws an arm around Castiel. “Lean on me.”

“Thank you,” Castiel murmurs, flushing. He doesn’t like feeling so helpless.

Castiel and Dean hobble toward the mess area, where everyone has assembled. All the angels except Rachel and Samandriel are arrayed on benches, hands cuffed behind their backs. A resentful part of Castiel rejoices at their pain, smiles at the thought of the holy oil burning their wrists. None of them had hesitated at hurting Castiel, and they are reaping their just rewards.

The less shameful part of himself is dismayed to find most of his fellow angels at the mercy of humans. He does belong to their species, after all, and he doesn’t relish seeing his kind brought so low.

But humans have lived with that state of affairs for hundreds of years. They deserve a moment of ascendancy. A stratified society would lead to more chaos, though. Hopefully the rebels’ victory presages movement toward a more equitable system.

“Sam and Ruby wanted to restrain Rachel and Samandriel also, but I convinced them that wouldn’t be fair since they helped us,” Dean whispers into Castiel’s ear.

“Are Sam and Ruby in charge?” Castiel asks. If a demon is at the forefront of the rebellion, disaster will soon befall Seraphim.

“No, but it sure seems like it lately. Everyone else just agrees with them all the time.”

There’s so much chatter surrounding them that Castiel’s head begins to throb.

“Quiet, everyone!” a brown-haired woman shouts. The authority in her voice prompts everyone to cease talking.

“That’s Ruby,” Dean mutters.

“The army is ours now,” Ruby addresses the angels. “But we are not unreasonable people.”

“No,” Sam jumps in. “If you swear an oath to exist in peace with us, to fight with us instead of against us, you’ll be free.”

“‘Free.’ Sure,” Bartholomew remarks. “As long as we’re your slaves.”

“No, it’s not like that.”

“So we can leave camp if we take this oath?”

“No.”

“How would you stop us?” Ion inquires.

“We couldn’t. We’d have to trust you, just as you would put your trust in us by taking the oath.”

Ion chuckles. “It’s that easy, huh? You think I’m gonna take this oath and keep my ass here?”

Esper shakes his head. “That would never work. It would get back to the higher-ups, and we’d be eviscerated once the government retakes the camp.” He narrows his eyes at Sam. “Because they will, obviously. They’ll crush you like the filth you are.” He throws dirty glances at Castiel, Rachel, and Samandriel. “All of you.”

“This is pointless,” Hester grumbles. “We’re wasting valuable time.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“Lucifer is a common enemy. We should be worrying about how to tackle him, not fighting each other.” Something in her expression seems shifty.

“President Michael is doing well against Lucifer,” Castiel cuts in. “Isn’t that what you told me before, Hester?” Speaking takes quite a bit of effort, and Castiel sags against Dean after voicing his question.

“They suffered a crushing blow yesterday. Now they’re struggling.”

“No need to worry about that,” Sam inserts.

“Yes,” Ruby adds. “Through me, Lucifer has been working with the rebels. We won’t bother Seraphim anymore once President Michael is toppled.”

“Wait? You’re one of Lucifer’s people?” Hester blurts.

Ruby’s eyes flash black, and the angels gasp. “Yes.”

“And we’re supposed to believe Lucifer will leave us alone?” Bartholomew sniffs.

“Yes. But if you don’t swear your allegiance to us, you’ll be left to Lucifer’s mercy. Your choice, ladies and gentlemen.”

Sam turns to Rachel and Samandriel. “That applies to you two as well.”

“Is Lucifer part of this oath?” Samandriel asks. “Must we ally ourselves with him, as you have?”

“Yes,” Sam confirms. Rachel’s countenance grows stormy. Castiel understands how she feels. Judging by the expression on his face, Dean is stunned as well.

“Take the oath or we’ll restrain you like we did everyone else.”

“Sammy, that’s not what we talked about,” Dean protests. “You said you’d leave them be.”

“We will if they take the oath.”

“We didn’t agree on that.”

“Yes, we did.”

Dean scowls. “Not when I was there.”

Sam shrugs. “We voted. Everyone but you agreed.”

Dean looks at the group of rebels. “You did?” He glances at a red-headed woman and a bearded man. “Charlie? Benny?”

The woman eyes the grass guiltily. “It seemed like the best option.”

“Come off your high horse, brother,” the man snaps. “You know we can’t trust those angel bastards.”

“They saved my life,” Dean fumes.

Sam ignores Dean and addresses himself to Rachel and Samandriel. “What’s it gonna be?” He turns to Castiel. “You have to take the oath, too, Cas.” The declaration paralyzes Castiel. He refuses to do what Sam insists, but the angels will not accept him anymore, either. He’s doomed.

“Now you’re just being an ass!” Dean seethes.

“I will do no such thing,” Rachel asserts.

Sam brandishes a set of handcuffs. “Then these are for you.”

“Please. What do you think you’re going to accomplish with those? I’m dead to the government now. How will the oath help?”

“We’ll know you’re loyal.”

“I am _not_ a loyal ally to Lucifer.”

“Neither am I,” Castiel adds.

Sam waves the handcuffs in the air. “Then there’s another set of these with your name on them.”

“Sam, stop!” Dean shouts. “This is too much.” Sam’s expression turns wrathful.

“May I make a suggestion?” Samandriel inserts before Sam can retort.

“Go on,” Ruby answers.

“What if we just renounce our allegiance to President Michael?”

“I don’t know—”

“That could work,” the red-headed woman squeaks. Sam and Ruby glare at her. “What? It’s a good compromise.”

“I agree with Charlie,” Dean states. “That’s what we did with the human soldiers, right?”

“I would be amenable to that,” Rachel affirms.

“As would I,” Castiel seconds.

Sam turns to his fellow rebels. “What do you think? Let’s take a vote.”

The majority of the rebels agree that renunciation would be adequate. Castiel, Rachel, and Samandriel rescind their loyalty to President Michael as the other angels mutter curses under their breath.

Afterward, Dean claps Castiel on the back. “Wanna go back to your tent?”

“I would appreciate that very much,” Castiel manages to reply. This morning has leached him of what little strength he’s built up after passing out last night.

Dean urges Cas to get more rest when they return to his tent. Cas sits down and gazes up at Dean petulantly and states, “I feel like we should be doing something.”

“Like what?” Dean replies. “Things are pretty much at a standstill right now.”

Cas sighs. “I know.”

Dean picks up the cream he and Rachel used on Cas last night. “Should we put more of this on your wings? I know it didn’t do much earlier, but . . .”

“It could help if you applied it periodically,” Cas finishes.

“Yeah.”

Cas lays down on his stomach and stretches out his wings. “All right.”

Dean swallows around a lump in his throat at the sight of the damaged wings, bare patches haphazardly scattered across their expanse, feathers torn and scratched.

He pours some of the serum into his hands and straddles Cas, planting one foot on each side of his body. “Is this okay?” Cas’s head bobs in what Dean takes to be assent. Dean’s fingertips brush over the top of one wing, and Cas hisses. “You okay?” he ventures.

“Stings,” Cas mumbles.

“Guess that means it’s working?”

“I hope so.”

“I’m going to rub it in now.”

“Okay.”

Dean smooths his palms over Cas’s wings, lathering the cream over their entire surface. Cas trembles underneath him, and Dean tries to sooth him with occasional pecks to the back of his neck. They provoke hums of contentment, so they must help. Dean attempts to gentle his movements each time his hands encounter the outline of a bone. Thank goodness none of those are broken.

“I think we just let it soak now,” Dean concludes.

“Yes,” Cas breathes.

“What is this stuff anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Cas replies tonelessly. “They would . . . after they did something, they would use it to . . . heal me. So they could do it again.”

“Jesus.” He can’t even imagine the agony Cas must’ve gone through. To be tortured beyond all endurance only to be subjected to it again and again.

Dean stretches out on the cot, laying on his side and facing Cas. Their eyes meet, and Dean is struck by how empty those baby blues are. Cas lowers his eyes and bites his lip, his expression the very definition of bleakness.

“Cas. Hey,” Dean pleads. He wraps a hand around Cas’s and squeezes. “It’s over.”

“I don’t think it can ever be over,” Cas whispers.

“Hey.” With his free hand, he tilts Cas’s chin up so that their eyes meet again. “I love you,” he exhales. He hadn’t known he was going to utter those words, but after they fly out of his mouth, he realizes they’re the right ones.

Cas’s breath catches in his throat. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He brushes his lips over the tip of Cas’s nose.

“I love you, too.” Cas has already revealed his feelings, but hearing him profess his love all over again ignites Dean’s heart anew.

Cas’s eyes slide closed. “I am tired.”

“Rest.” He slinks an arm around Cas’s shoulders and pulls him close. “I’m here.”

They sink into sleep.

Dean draws guard duty for the late-night shift. He’s afraid of leaving Cas alone in the tent, but Cas assures him he’ll be fine, that Dean should make himself useful. He even offers to accompany him, but Dean won’t hear of it. Cas doesn’t need to strain himself right now.

That’s how Dean finds himself patrolling the edge of camp with Charlie at the ungodly hour of two in the morning. They pass the time with card games, but when that gets boring, Charlie decides to grill him about Cas.

“So, what’s the story with the angel?” she throws out.

“Cas?”

“Yeah.”

Dean shrugs. Over the past year, he’s become good friends with Charlie, but he doesn’t want to hash out all his shit with her. “What about it?”

“I guess I just don’t understand. Before you came here, you always talked about what an ass he was. How he called you a . . . mud monkey.” She glances around as if to ensure no one has overheard the slur. “And now you’re all buddy-buddy with him?”

“That wasn’t him.”

“But . . . ”

“Why are you even questioning it?” Dean rails. “You saw him this morning. What those bastards did to him because he’s _on our side_.”

“Yeah,” Charlie concedes, cowed. “That confuses me, too . . . he’s nothing like you said he was.”

“I know.” Dean smiles to himself. “Great, ain’t it?”

“Yep.” Charlie toes at the dirt with her boot. “I’m sorry.”

Dean gapes at her. “Sorry? For what?”

Her eyes dart around nervously. “For before. When none of us would listen to you because of how much you defended Castiel . . . we should have trusted you.”

“Nah. I understand.” He’s grateful for the unexpected gesture, but it also prompts a stab of melancholy. Here Charlie is, apologizing, when Sam continues to ignore him and act suspicious of Cas. His own brother won’t admit that Dean had been right about Cas, but Charlie . . .

He’s always known she’s awesome.

When they’re relieved of guard duty two hours later, Dean heads straight to Cas’s tent. As soon as he enters, he hears Cas tossing and turning, whimpering in his sleep.

Dean jostles him. “Cas! Cas, wake up!”

Cas’s eyes fly open. “Dean?”

“Hey, buddy. You were having a nightmare.” Cas nods, and Dean perches on the cot beside him. “About those motherfuckers that hurt you.”

“Yes. No.” Cas swallows. “It wasn’t about that . . . it was about my father.”

“Huh?” Inias Grace had died before either of them was born.

Cas licks his lips. “During . . . everything, Zachariah told me that my father had been sent to the Bottoms . . . He went through . . . mind control experiments. M—m—mother. She . . . ” Cas begins to cry. “She did it.”

“What?”

“The exper—experiments. Mother carried them out.”

“Jesus!” He remembers Naomi Grace as a cold and clinical woman, but even she couldn’t do that to her own husband. Right? “Maybe he was lying.”

“I don’t think he was. I . . . I keep having these nightmares. Mother digging into my father’s head. Over and over. But . . . ” Cas laughs hysterically. “I don’t even know what my own father looked like.”

“Cas . . . ”

Cas tightly clutches the blanket he’s wrapped in. “I didn’t get to have a father, and it’s _her_ fault. And President Michael’s. I fought for that bastard, for the whole damn messed up system, the one that stole my father . . . ” Cas dissolves into sobs.

“That’s what those pieces of shit do.” Cas’s red eyes flick to him. “Steal fathers.”

“Yes! I’m so sorry about John, Dean . . . ”

Tears leak out of Dean’s eyes. “I know.” Dean’s hands form fists. “Those sons of bitches’ll pay. For both our dads.”

Cas nods vigorously. “Why . . . why do you think he was sent to the Bottoms?”

Dean shrugs. “Who knows? Probably ’cause he wasn’t being a good little mindless soldier. The same reason those bastards hurt you.”

“And Samandriel.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think . . . would Mother be able to do the same thing to me?” Cas whispers, petrified.

“I hope not.”

Cas focuses on the roof of the tent. “I think she’s capable of anything. Sometimes I wonder if she even . . . if she ever loved me.”

“Oh, Cas.” He pulls Cas into his arms. He wouldn’t be surprised if Cas is right. “Mom loved you.” He cradles Cas’s head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Cas says, voice muffled by Dean’s sleeve.

“You’re not. You’re so strong, Cas.”

“I’m not. I feel like I’m going to break into a million pieces . . . ”

“You are. You saved my life after _days of torture_ , for cryin’ out loud.”

He soothes Cas until he relaxes in his arms, and they doze off together.

A staid stasis rules the camp over the next three days. Dean spends a lot of time with Cas, whose wings appear to be healing nicely. They still contain dry, patchy areas, but most of the feathers have regained their gloss even if they haven’t yet fully grown back.

Rachel retrieves the messages that Hester used to get from President Michael’s unit. She brings them into the command tent every evening and shares them with Sam, Dean, and Ruby. Sometimes, Cas lingers with them.

Then the game changer arrives.

Rachel tears open the envelope and gasps.

“What is it?” Cas asks, his chin propped on Dean’s shoulder.

“President Michael is dead,” Rachel marvels. “Lucifer has defeated his army.”

“Hallelujah,” Ruby shouts.

“Amen,” Sam mutters.

Cas and Rachel glare at them. Ruby rolls her eyes, but Sam gives them sheepish, apologetic looks.

“And that’s not all,” Rachel continues.

“What else?” Cas prompts.

“Lucifer is coming to visit his rebel allies . . . _here_.”

“In this camp?”

Rachel nods.

Ruby smirks. “I know.”

Four heads whip around to face her. “You _know_?” Sam echoes.

Ruby shrugs. “I got a message about it this morning.”

“And you weren’t gonna tell us?”

“Didn’t think you needed to know yet.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean interjects. “And when would that be, huh? When he gets here?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re a real bitch.”

“Dean!” Sam exclaims.

Dean rounds on him. “You know it’s true. Why else would she keep it a secret from us?”

“Because I knew you’d act like this,” Ruby deadpans.

“She’s got a point,” Sam adds.

“Fuck you!”

Dean storms out of the tent. Pounding footsteps follow him, but he doesn’t turn around until he reaches a secluded part of the camp. “Goddammit,” he murmurs to himself.

Someone places a hand on his shoulder. “Dean,” Cas rumbles. He spins Dean around so that they face each other. “Please calm down.”

Dean grits his teeth. “You can’t tell me you’re happy about that shit.”

“No.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulder. “But this behavior will not win any sympathy.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“Lucifer?”

“Yeah.”

Cas ponders the matter for a minute. “You are his allies, are you not?” Dean nods. “Then he could merely wish to confer.”

Dean snorts. “Sure he does.”

“That will probably be his justification.”

“Yeah.” Dean swallows, nervous. “What if . . . what if he steals our souls?”

“He cannot steal angel souls.”

Dean scowls. “Not helping, Cas.”

“He won’t be able to take yours, either, not unless he tricks you somehow. Your soul has to be in a weakened state. Like when . . . ”

“After you lose in a battle,” Dean finishes, recalling an earlier conversation they’d had about Lucifer.

“Yes.”

“Shit. And he’s probably got President Michael’s army under his thumb.”

“The humans, perhaps. He slaughtered the angels. All of them.” Cas’s eyes grow sad.

“That was in Rachel’s note?”

“Yes.”

“Christ.”

“I had good friends in that regiment . . . Ezekiel. Adina. And they’re all . . . gone.” Cas swipes at his eyes. “They’ll never get justice, not as long as we’re tied to Lucifer.”

“Then we’ll break it off with that motherfucker.”

Cas smiles ruefully. “That would hardly be honorable, considering the rebels received his assistance.”

“Fine. We’ll just wait until he messes with us.—”

“Which he will, no doubt.”

“And he’ll pay then.”

 

Lucifer and his army arrive six days later. He strides into camp with a smooth smile, followed by his most trusted lieutenants, or demons, and a human army. As Cas had explained it, any human or angel who voluntarily devotes themselves to Lucifer becomes a demon. Lucifer bestows them with almost supernatural abilities. The former angels are recognizable by their wings. So Ruby really hadn’t been lying about serving Lucifer of her own free will.

Lucifer has the largest wings Dean’s ever seen. What’s more, his wings are two different colors—one black and one purple, which indicate that he once belonged to both the warrior and ruling class.

“He’s the only angel in history with wings like that,” Cas whispers into Dean’s ear. “Other than President Michael.”

“I’d heard President Michael had a black and a purple wing, but I never believed it,” Dean reveals.

“It’s true. He was at my graduation ceremony at the Garrison Academy. His wings were . . . impressive.”

Dean’s eyes follow Lucifer as he strolls into the command tent, studying his starched white uniform and perfectly styled blonde hair. He admires the gold necklace draped around Lucifer’s neck. A faintly glowing opal pendant rests on his clavicle. It looks expensive.

After Lucifer’s entourage has inspected the camp, Castiel and Dean head toward the command tent, where they will confer with Lucifer along with Sam, Ruby, Charlie, and Benny. Castiel still doesn’t know much about the latter two humans other than that they often serve as the deciding votes when Sam and Dean are at a standstill.

Inside the tent, Lucifer reclines with effortless ease. He does have a magnetic presence to him. If Castiel hadn’t witnessed his atrocious nature firsthand, he could see himself falling under Lucifer’s sway. He must ensure the rebels avoid that danger.

After introductions, Lucifer gets right to the point. “Seraphim is leaderless. You may wish to take control of the nation yourselves.—”

“Definitely,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“—and I would like to assist you.”

“That is generous of you,” Sam offers.

“Would you like to hear my proposition?”

Sam, Charlie, and Benny nod. Dean glances at Castiel uncertainly. Castiel crosses his arms over his chest. To protect everyone’s best interests, he needs to listen closely.

“I would gladly allow Seraphim to be a protectorate of Hella.”

Charlie raises her eyebrows. “A protectorate? What does that mean?”

“It means that you would have dominion over yourselves while reaping the rewards of Hella’s protection. You govern yourselves as you see fit, and if you encounter any . . . trouble . . . I send over Hella’s forces to help you out.”

“What’s the catch?” Dean inquires.

Lucifer shrugs. “No catch. Although I would like . . . and I believe this would be mutually beneficial. The angels should swear to abide by the agreement, upon pain of death.”

“Whose death?” Benny asks.

“Theirs.”

“ _No_ ,” Castiel hisses.

Lucifer’s pale blue eyes meet his, and Castiel shivers. They hold him rapt—gentle, yet filled with hatred. “Why not? Do you not wish to uphold this democracy that—as I hear it—you helped fight for?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then what is the issue?”

“We will refuse to allow you to have any authority over us.”

Lucifer laughs, the sound harsh yet still somehow kind. “I am not proposing that, Castiel.”

Castiel scowls at him. “But you are. That is the very definition of a ‘protectorate.’ A mother country exercises partial control over its protectorates.”

“Nonsense!”

“What about the people whose souls you stole?” Dean cuts in.

Lucifer chuckles, grinning. Castiel notes how charming everyone else seems to find his behavior. “I do not steal souls!”

“I told you it was propaganda,” Sam asserts.

“Talk to any soldier you wish. They will inform you of the truth.”

Dean frowns and opens his mouth as if to speak, but before he can do that, Benny declares, “I think this sounds like a sweet deal. If those angel bastards can’t get on board, well. They deserve whatever punishment is coming to them, don’t they?”

“It will extinguish our kind!” Castiel thunders.

“Not if you agree to the terms.”

Lucifer stands up. “Think upon it. Inform me when you have made your decision.” He glides out of the tent with Ruby on his heels.

“Lucifer would be a powerful ally,” Sam muses. “Without him, we’d be nothing but vulnerable. No doubt Raphael will rally some troops . . . ” He eyes Castiel. “Raphael is next in line for the presidency, you said?”

“Yes,” Castiel confirms.

“With Lucifer, we could keep the war from becoming too drawn out.”

“Lessen the number of casualties,” Charlie adds.

“And you would just turn all of the angels— _me_ —over to Lucifer?!” Castiel exclaims.

“Not if you swear to the agreement,” Benny reminds him.

“We will not— _I_ will not—do that.”

“Why not?” Charlie questions.

“He’s using it as a foothold! Lucifer wants Seraphim for himself, and with this agreement . . . there’ll be enough loopholes for him to insinuate himself into our affairs.”

“You’re twisting his words,” Sam argues.

“No. He’ll have grounds for usurpation.”

“After President Michael, Lucifer might not be so bad,” Benny opines.

Castiel grits his teeth. “You have not seen what I have seen—”

“You’re not gonna get me to believe your angel propaganda, brother.”

“I don’t think Lucifer should be allowed to kill the angels,” Charlie cuts in.

Benny glares at her. “Really? _You_ , of all people? After what they did to your family? How they _tortured_ them for _days_ . . . ”

Castiel flinches. He’d had no idea . . . He makes a mental note to ask Dean about his compatriots’ personal history.

Charlie worries her lip between her teeth. She eyes Castiel. “Good angels do exist.”

“Yeah, and they’ll sign on to the damn agreement. If not . . . ”

Dean snatches Castiel’s hand. “I’m not letting Lucifer kill Cas!”

Benny dons a mocking smirk. “Your boyfriend can be the exception.”

“No. You will treat me like everyone else,” Castiel objects.

“Why don’t we put it to a vote?” Sam suggests. “Give the soldiers their say.”

“And the angels?” Castiel ventures.

“We’ll ask Rachel and Samandriel.”

“But—”

“Prisoners of war aren’t usually consulted on these decisions, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes fill with tears. He knows what will happen. To most humans, the plan will seem nothing but beneficial.

It’s the beginning of the end. Lucifer will snuff out every angel he can—no self-respecting one would agree to his terms.

Not without joining him—and losing all honor in the process.

They decide to let both sides make their cases to the humans. The humans assemble in the middle of camp. Dean stands near the front with Cas and threads their fingers together in an effort to comfort him.

“No doubt you have heard the rumors about me,” Lucifer begins. He pastes on an indulgent smile. “Your angel leaders have probably told you that my forces destroy villages, that we do not inspire loyalty but, rather, steal it by taking people’s souls.” Murmurs of assent fill the air. “Well. Let’s dispel these myths right now. Don’t trust me—trust the humans who follow me.” He gestures at a brunette woman off to the side. “Come up here, Meg.”

Meg strides toward Lucifer and grins up at him.

“Tell the citizens of Seraphim how you came to serve me and what an average day in my army is like.”

“Gladly,” Meg replies. “I grew up in a border town in Seraphim. Cold Oak. Our angel leaders were merciless. Do you know what happened if you got caught stealing?” Several people shake their heads. “They chopped your hands off. Even if it was something as paltry as bread. I know because it happened to my brother.

“When Lucifer’s army came, we fought with the angels. We believed their lies, that they were the best protection we had against a monster.

“But when Lucifer defeated them, he pardoned every human who’d fought against him. He helped us set up our own government.

“The angels never cared if we starved. But Lucifer—Lucifer always makes sure we have enough to eat. He never pushes us past our limits. He’s defended us against danger time and again, and I trust him with my life.”

“How do we know you’re not saying all this ’cause he has your soul?” Dean yells.

“That’s preposterous.”

“If I had the power to steal souls, why wouldn’t I take yours at this very moment?” Lucifer declares. His eyes scan the crowd. “All of yours.”

“You need us at a disadvantage first.”

Lucifer flashes a mischievous grin. “Oh, but you are at a disadvantage. Do you not think that my army, my demons with their powers, could not easily overpower you if we chose?”

“Valid point,” Dean mutters to himself. Cas glances askance at him, and Dean chafes under his intense scrutiny.

Lucifer places a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Thank you, Meg.” The woman returns to the sidelines, and Lucifer turns back to his audience. “I am on your side. The angels deserve punishment for their oppression, do they not?” Several people cheer. “Do you know what they did to me? How I got my powers?” Lucifer stretches out a hand and compels a sword to fly into it. Several people gasp. “I refused to accept Michael’s autocratic authority, and you know what they did? They sent me to the Bottoms.” His words are met with disbelieving looks. “Oh, it’s a real place, I assure you.” He eyes the imprisoned angels trapped in a holy fire behind him. “Isn’t that right, Bartholomew?”

Bartholomew’s head jerks in surprise. “What?”

“You’ve been there. To the Bottoms. Helped out with the experiments.”

“I don’t—” But Bartholomew’s face betrays his guilt even as he denies it.

“Whatever’s good for the realm, right?” Lucifer returns his attention to the rapt humans. “They poked and prodded me with needles. All over my body, in my eyes. They injected all manner of substances into me. They wanted to attempt to build a super soldier, you see. And after days—weeks— _years_ —of burns and cuts and punches, I, with my enhanced abilities, escaped. I vowed then and there to overthrow their tyranny. I ran away to Hella, where they elected me leader fair and square. They remembered how the angels used to raze their land. How the angels had depleted their resources then left them to deal with the waste they created.

“And these angels.” He waves a hand at the handcuffed angels arrayed behind him. “They uphold this status quo. Isn’t it time they get their just desserts?” Some people voice their assent and eye the angels as if eager for a slaughter. The naked display of animus chills Dean. Lucifer holds up a hand. “Now, now. We are not like them. Am I right?” A few people clapped. “No. We are neither unreasonable nor unmerciful. We will grant a pardon to any angel who agrees to abide by your democracy and my status as your protector.”

Lucifer is convincing. If he hadn’t heard about the dark side of Lucifer from Cas, Dean might be inclined to support the alliance with Hella.

Lucifer exits to roaring applause. After the noise dies down, Sam introduces the next speaker, Rachel, who will argue against the alliance. Cas had begged to represent the opposition, but Dean wouldn’t hear of it. Cas still struggles to stay upright at times, and Dean doesn’t want Cas to strain himself.

“Lucifer’s offer sounds tempting, does it not?” Rachel begins. Several individuals nod. “We have all heard the saying: if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. We should keep that in mind as we consider our options.

“Lucifer claims that we will be designated as a ‘protectorate’ of Hella. He tells us we will be autonomous, but that is a lie. Instead, we would come under his jurisdiction. If he disagrees with our government, he would have the authority to intervene. He will not protect us but rather take control at the first opportunity.”

“And how’s that any different from what you dicks did, huh?” someone heckles.

“Yeah,” another person adds. “It’s not like the angels ever gave us the time of day.”

“At least Lucifer will give us a say,” a third individual chimes in.

“Likely not—” Rachel starts.

“This is another one of your angel tricks,” the first person shouts. “ _You’re_ the ones who’re power hungry. _You’re_ the ones who want control.”

“And it’s time to pay!” a fourth voice hollers.

The audience’s jeering soon reaches a crescendo, and Sam hustles Rachel off stage to keep her from being attacked. After that, several angry men and women turn their attention to Cas. Dean flees, pulling Cas behind him.

 

An overwhelming majority of the humans vote to forge the alliance with Lucifer, who announces that he will stay in camp indefinitely to help them. First, they will put to death an angel a day who doesn’t agree to abide by the contract between Lucifer and the rebels; most humans consider it a just punishment.

With President Michael dead, Vice President Raphael is poised to take over Seraphim’s leadership. One of Lucifer’s scouts reveals that Raphael’s first mission is to take the camp back from rebel hands. Thus, the soldiers need to prepare for an imminent battle.

Castiel suggests that it might be wiser to retreat to a nearby town, like Lawrence. They can besiege it, and Lawrence will surrender after only a few days. It will be much easier to defend themselves from behind the city’s walls than out in the open, but the rebels won’t listen to him since he refuses to agree to Lucifer’s terms. Only Dean’s intervention has kept them from imprisoning him, Rachel, and Samandriel with the rest of the angels.

“Besides,” Sam argues, “it might take too long for us to acquire Lawrence. Then if Raphael’s forces show up, we’d be caught in the pincers. No. It’s too risky.”

Sam spends the majority of his time with Ruby, and her influence clearly shows. As one of Lucifer’s chief lieutenants, Ruby has been dubbed a demon and given sspecial powers, such as the ability to move objects with her mind. She touts these advantages to Sam, who occasionally ponders whether he should join her and Lucifer.

“Think of all the good I could do, Dean,” Castiel overhears Sam argue once.

“You can’t be serious,” Dean snaps. “Whatever happened to making your own choices?”

“It would be my choice.”

“No, Sam. The point was for us to have an equal say in Seraphim’s politics, to be able to have the same jobs and education as the angels. Not to let ourselves be ruled by another country and turned into freaks.”

“But Lucifer’s right. We could use his protection. That’s why the angels were able to treat us as second-class citizens in the first place—they’re more powerful than us.”

Luckily, many of the other rebels also have reservations about Lucifer bestowing powers upon Sam, so his talk comes to nothing.

Eventually, Ruby pulls away from everyone but Sam; sometimes it even seems as if she’s trying to isolate Sam, as Charlie observes one day.

The whole camp assembles to watch when Lucifer executes an angel at sundown every day. His methods grow more gruesome. Today, Lucifer strips the skin off of poor Esper’s face before finally putting him out of his misery.

“This is starting to scare me,” Charlie comments to Castiel and Dean.

Dean stares, wide-eyed. “I get it, though,” he muses. “These are all things that happened to Lucifer in the Bottoms, right? It’s payback for what was done to him.”

“But if we sign on to this type of thing, doesn’t that make us just like them?”

Castiel imagines Mother treating Inias Grace in a similar way—stripping his skin, brainwashing him, scraping his body with a razor, burrowing underneath his skin with countless needles.

It disorients him.

And Lucifer, in all his subtle, terrifying monstrosity, was created by angels. Angels who experimented on him, giving him almost uncanny supernatural abilities, the power to take souls and command their owners to carry out his will.

Why would angels conduct such tests?

Just thinking about the subject chills him. They must’ve—they must’ve wanted to develop those powers for themselves so they could subjugate humans to their will.

And they’d created a healing cream just so they could dole out more punishment when they wish. It’s never been made available to the general public.

These facts, more than anything, underscore just how much the status quo deserves to be toppled. Vice President Raphael would carry on that legacy.

But Lucifer isn’t better. No one should have that much power.—Especially not someone as bitter as the leader of Hella.

Whatever his talents, Lucifer cannot read minds.

Two nights after Esper’s execution, when Dean is on guard duty with Charlie, Ion appears in Castiel’s tent. Castiel does a double take: isn’t Ion supposed to be imprisoned with the other angels? Who let him out, and why is he visiting Castiel?

“I have a message for you,” Ion begins. Castiel gawks at him while attempting to formulate a reply.

“Who—What . . . I don’t understand,” Castiel stammers. He hardens his features and prepares for a confrontation. “How did you get out?”

Ion smirks. “Lucifer sent me.”

Castiel frowns. “Lucifer . . . ”

“He would like to form a partnership with you. As he has with me. Your cooperation . . . in exchange for powers beyond your wildest dreams.”

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest and studies Ion. This secret alliance that Ion is part of . . . it doesn’t sound good. “My cooperation in what?”

“Taking down Seraphim’s infrastructure.”

“What does that mean?”

“Bringing an army against Raphael.”

Castiel chews his lip. He’s missing something. “The rebels will do that. I thought Lucifer planned to support them?”

Ion snorts. “Please. Do you really think a ragtag group of humans stands a chance against Raphael? No. Especially not with how uncooperative some of them are . . . Partially because of you.”

“Me?” What is Ion talking about? So far, the rebels have done almost everything Lucifer has asked of them.

“Yes. Lucifer needs complete control of the situation. There’s no time for debating semantics and nation ownership . . . not with Raphael on the prowl. We need your unquestioning cooperation, and Lucifer is willing to offer compensation for it.” Ion grins. “Would you like a demonstration?” He extends his hands, and a cushion rises to the ceiling. A second later, it falls back to the ground.

Castiel’s eyes dart between Ion and the cushion. “What . . . ” He fixes a firm expression on Ion. “There has to be more to the deal than that. Why would he be so generous?”

“Oh, you’ll only have to help him subdue the humans . . . just long enough for Lucifer to grab their souls. It’s the only way to guarantee their loyalty in the battle against Raphael.”

“Grab their souls?” Castiel echoes, shocked. He narrows his eyes at Ion. “I knew he was lying when he said he couldn’t do it. No. It’s tantamount to slavery. I will not be a party to it.”

Ion sighs. “Castiel. You’re missing the big picture here. There won’t be any bloodshed, and it’s only until Raphael’s no longer a threat. And think of what you could do with your powers! And as a member of Lucifer’s cabinet . . . which you’ll be.”

“But what will happen after Raphael?” Castiel growls. “There will always be a new foe.” He shakes his head. “No. I refuse to participate in this.”

Ion draws his sword. “Oh, Castiel. Is that really your final answer?” Castiel nods. “Then you cannot be allowed to live. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we can’t have the wrong people learning of this conversation.”

Castiel leaps out of the way as Ion rushes toward him. He lands on his hands and knees and grabs his sword from where it lies beside the cot. He picks it up and blocks Ion’s next strike. He hops back onto his feet and continues to parry Ion’s thrusts. Finally, he knocks the sword out of Ion’s hand, and Ion falls to his knees. He points his blade at Ion’s throat and spits, “You will tell the humans what you just told me.”

Ion sneers. A second later, something wraps around Castiel’s throat, and he can’t breathe. As he flails to cut the rope around his neck, Ion darts toward the tent flap. In a desperate bid to prevent Ion from fleeing, Castiel extends one of his wings. It’s still sore, but he accomplishes his purpose nevertheless, knocking down Ion with a swift swing. His hands slide to the uncut end of the rope, which he dips into a bottle of holy oil while pinning Ion down with the wing. He ties the rope around Ion’s wrists, and Ion howls when the holy oil touches his skin. It’s not as good as Eden steel, but it’ll have to do.

He drags Ion out of the tent to—where is he going? Not to Sam’s tent; no doubt Ruby is in there. But he can’t take Ion to Dean, either; he doesn’t want to risk the whole camp seeing them. It might spread chaos and confusion, and it would allow Lucifer to know what’s going on.

Benny is a member of the rebel council, so Castiel heads toward his tent. Benny can fetch Sam and Dean, and then they can figure out how to use the temporary advantage they have over Lucifer.

Castiel storms into Benny’s tent and tosses Ion to the ground. Tucked under his blankets on his cot, Benny startles at the noise. “What the fuck?” he exclaims, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Get Dean and Sam,” Castiel grits out.

“What’s going on?”

Castiel gestures at the tied-up angel. “Ion has some salient information about Lucifer.”

“How’d he--?”

“Worry about that later. Go. _Now_!”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Benny snips, but he leaves the tent all the same.

Charlie deals another card, and Dean frowns down at his terrible hand. Quiet one minute, then suddenly Benny rushes toward him.

“Something’s going on,” Benny declares as he catches his breath. Dean raises an eyebrow. “Castiel . . . he’s got some other angel trussed up, and he’s demanding to see you and Sam.”

Dean stands up. “Where is he?”

“My tent.”

Charlie gets to her feet. Dean turns to her. “What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Coming with you.”

Dean glowers at her. “Stay here.” Charlie glares at him mutinously. “We need a lookout.”

“Fine,” Charlie huffs.

Inside Benny’s tent, Dean finds Cas looming over an angel whose wrists are tied behind his back. The feathers in one of Cas’s wings are ruffled. While Dean is gawking at the sight, Sam arrives.

“Benny’s taken over guard duty from you,” Sam tells Dean before his eyes alight on Cas and the other angel. “What is this?” he prompts Cas.

“Lucifer is planning to double cross you,” Cas rasps. He nods at the other angel. “Ion here brought me a proposition from Lucifer.” He raises his eyebrows and turns to Ion. “Tell them what you told me, hmm?”

“Fuck you!” Ion spits. Cas punches him in the jaw, and Dean winces.

“Cas, go easy . . . ” Dean murmurs. He’s never seen Cas look so savage.

“He is in league with Lucifer,” Cas proclaims.

“That why he’s not locked up with the others?”

“Presumably.”

“But Lucifer’s helping us, right?” Sam interjects. “So Ion has to be on our side.”

“Tell them,” Cas hisses at Ion.

“You think I’m the type to break?” Ion sneers.

Cas pours a drop of holy oil into Ion’s eye, and Ion screams.

Dean flinches at the agonizing sound. “Is that really necessary?”

“He did worse to me,” Cas rumbles. He holds the vial above Ion’s other eye.

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk!” Ion shrieks.

“Not the type to break, hmm?” Cas snarls.

“Lucifer’s going to use the humans to fight Raphael.”

Sam snorts. “That’s it?”

Cas presses the tip of his angel blade against Ion’s throat, and a faint blue light leaks out of the cut. “Tell them what you said about the souls.”

“Oh, Castiel, you really are dramatic. It’ll be temporary.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?” Dean asks. “What’s temporary?”

Ion’s eyes land on him, and Dean shivers at the malice in his eyes. “I don’t understand what Castiel sees in you mud monkeys. He’s always been a pathetic excuse for an angel.”

Anger bubbles up in Dean, and he kicks Ion in the side. “Don’t change the subject.”

Cas drags the blade over another inch of Ion’s neck, and Ion howls.

“Okay, okay!” Ion exclaims. “He’s going to take your souls.”

Sam stares, disbelieving, and Dean does a double take. Lately, Dean had begun to doubt that Lucifer could steal souls, that Cas had imagined whatever had made him believe such a thing, but this angel . . .

“Why would he do that?” Sam scoffs after a minute.

“To do what he wants without wasting time with negotiations,” Cas explains.

“And let’s not forget the power,” Dean theorizes.

“No,” Sam exhales. “That’s not true. Ruby . . . she doesn’t know about it.”

Ion cackles. “Oh, she knows, all right.”

“No . . . ”

“She’s in his inner circle, Sam,” Dean points out.

“No, she can’t be . . . ”

“But she told you she was, didn’t she? When she first came to you guys?”

“Yeah, but . . . ”

“He has the souls of his human army, doesn’t he?” Dean realizes.

“Oh, God . . . ” Sam chokes.

“They’re enslaved,” Cas confirms.

“Where does he keep the souls?” Dean wonders. He turns to Ion.

“Please,” Ion ridicules. “Like he would tell me.” Cas raises the vial holy oil, and Ion screeches, “No, don’t, I’m telling the truth!”

Cas lowers his hand, so he must believe Ion. “He probably keeps them on his person. That’s the only way he could safeguard them.”

“I can’t believe I fell for it . . . ” Sam whispers in shock.

“Stop beating yourself up, Sammy,” Dean says. He’d known from the beginning that Ruby was bad news, but he still feels for Sam. He understands how rotten it feels to be betrayed by someone you care about.

“What does Lucifer have on himself at all times?” Cas muses.

“We have time to figure it out,” Dean dismisses.

“No, we don’t. Those souls are suffering . . . and it won’t take long for Lucifer to deduce that we’re on to him. We need to act before then.”

“We should kill him,” Sam suggests.

“What?”

“Obviously, imprisonment won’t do, right? He escaped from the Bottoms. And we can’t let him take advantage of anyone else.”

“Sammy . . . ” Dean breathes. He’s startled by how much resentment and hatred bleeds into Sam’s voice.

“You’re right,” Cas agrees.

“How’re we gonna do that?” Dean frets.

“We need to know where the souls are first.”

“What does Lucifer keep with him at all times?” Sam repeats.

“His weapon?” Dean ventures.

“No, that would be too obvious,” Cas argues.

A long pause ensues. Dean’s concluded that they’re screwed when Sam’s voice shatters the quiet.

“The pendant!” Sam exclaims.

“What?” Dean replies. From the expression on Cas’s face, he’s just as confused by Sam’s outburst as Dean.

“The souls,” Sam continues. “Haven’t you ever noticed that Lucifer wears the same necklace all the damn time . . . if you look closely, you can see a white light inside the opal pendant. That must be it.”

“You’re a genius!” Dean exclaims.

“So we kill Lucifer and smash the pendant. That’ll let the souls out, won’t it?”

“I believe so,” Cas confirms.

They devise a plan. Cas and Dean will sneak into Lucifer’s tent and kill him in his sleep. Not the noblest thing to do, but what’s important is eliminating Lucifer. Then they’ll break the pendant and release the souls. Sam begs to come with them, but someone needs to watch Ion. Besides, Dean notices the heartbreak in his eyes, and emotion often leads to careless mistakes. No. It’s safer for Sammy to stay.

Two individuals guard Lucifer’s tent. Cas and Dean knock them out with a rock each then tiptoe inside, hoping Lucifer hadn’t heard the ruckus. Dean breathes a sigh of relief when they find him still asleep inside, his wings drooping off the cot, stretched out across almost the whole expanse of the tent.

Dean and Cas eye each other and silently agree to navigate carefully around the wings, hopping from one patch of space to another. They proceed, and then they’re close, Cas reaching to snatch the necklace from Lucifer’s neck.

A great wind swoops across the room, and before Dean can process what’s happening, he’s been pinned to the ground by a purple wing. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Cas is also flat on the ground, a black wing holding him in place.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lucifer growls. Dean shudders at the pure venom in his voice. Until now, he’s only ever heard the guy sound friendly or at least reasonable. But apparently it’s something he can easily turn on and off.

“Um, just testing your security,” Dean improvises. “It sucks, by the way.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes at him, and Dean wilts under the unblinking gaze. Lucifer’s eyes catch on the sword in Cas’s hand. “This is an assassination attempt, isn’t it?” he sibilates.

Dean laughs nervously. “Why would you think that?”

“You two cause the most consistent agitation in this camp, opposing me at every turn . . . You’re the most selfish bastards I’ve ever had the displeasure to deal with. Putting yourselves over the good of the nation.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Dean blurts. “Like you just don’t steal people’s souls when they won’t give you what you want.” Cas looks alarmed, and _shit_. They’ve just lost the opportunity to talk themselves out of this.

Lucifer glares at him. “I thought we put those rumors to rest.”

“Your pretense is up,” Cas snarls before stabbing Lucifer in the wing. Lucifer reels from the impact, and a second later, Dean draws his own sword (Eden steel, thank goodness), and swerves at the purple wing. Lucifer’s more prepared for this strike. He sweeps the wing away, and Dean’s free. He slashes at Lucifer, but Lucifer raises the wing so high that Dean can’t reach it. Cas extends his own wings, not as large as Lucifer’s but still impressive, and hits Lucifer’s black wing with the tip of one. He slashes his sword through a few of Lucifer’s feathers, and Lucifer howls. Blood and blue light trickles from the wing, and Dean is stunned that they’ve won so quickly. But then objects are flying through the air. They slam against his and Cas’s bodies, and Dean falls, clutching at his head. He feels woozy. Something else hits him in the temple, and he realizes he’s about to black out.

Then strength returns to him full force.

He feels off, like invisible strings have tethered him to something.

_Kill him. Kill Castiel._

_Protect Lucifer from the traitor._

He jumps to his feet and points his sword at Castiel.

“Dean?” Castiel questions from the other side of the tent, where he’s fallen to his knees.

Castiel gapes at Dean. _What is he doing?_ He stands on one foot, but his other knee remains on the ground. It throbs, and he’s afraid that he won’t be able to move it.

Lucifer creeps toward the tent’s exit, and Castiel shouts, “He’s getting away!”

Dean grins. “Good.”

 _Good? Oh, no. Oh, Dean. He took your soul, didn’t he?_ It would make sense. Dean had received several blows to the head, which would’ve weakened him considerably.

In a desperate bid to arrest Lucifer’s progress, Castiel picks up a knife that’s landed nearby and tosses it in Lucifer’s direction, aiming for a wing. Lucifer dodges the weapon and cackles. “Nice try, moron.”

He dashes out of the tent, and Castiel’s spirit falls. Lucifer has successfully evaded them, and no one can stop him now. He’ll take over Seraphim, and angels who don’t join him will be slaughtered while all humans will be forced into unquestioning obedience.

Just like Dean is now.

Dean aims his blade at Castiel.

“No, Dean, please,” Castiel gasps. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“But I do,” Dean sneers, his mouth twisting into a vicious smile. Castiel could have never imagined such a monstrous expression marring Dean’s beautiful face. “ _You_ are the traitor. _You_ are the one holding us back. _You_ are the one who has prevented Lucifer from achieving peace.”

Castiel forces his knee to work and bounds to his feet. Dean swings the sword at him, and Castiel blocks the blow with his own blade. He flaps his wings desperately, hoping the wind will knock the sword out of Dean’s hand, but Dean has an iron grip on the instrument. He wonders if Lucifer has somehow imbued him with extra strength.

Dean slashes at one of the wings, and it _hurts_ , almost as if the blade had gone down to the heart of him. The wound is deep, and blood and grace leaks out. Castiel is too startled to move, and Dean repeats the motion. With two dire cuts, the wing crumples uselessly.

Castiel parries Dean’s next thrust. Dean swings more forcefully, and the sword tumbles out of Castiel’s hand. He backs away until his back hits the canvas of the tent. He collapses, and Dean stabs him indiscriminately. He feels every scrape, observes as blue light emanates from small holes in his wings and skin. He could probably summon enough strength to strike back, but he doesn’t want to hurt Dean, especially when he doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

Dean points the blade at his chest and jeers, “Prepare to meet your Maker.”

“Dean,” Castiel begs. “You don’t have to do this.”

The blade descends a couple of inches. “I’m a patriot.”

“Okay,” Castiel sighs. “If you can’t . . . do it. It’s okay.” The sword drops a little more, and Castiel adds, “I love you. Always.”

The blade remains stationary.

Castiel’s eyes navigate to Dean’s face. Dean blinks, and a flicker of something enters his eyes.

“Cas?” Dean squeaks. Castiel remains motionless, afraid of breaking whatever spell this is. Dean’s hands start to shake, and the sword clatters to the ground. Dean stares at it with horrified eyes then turns those green orbs on Cas. “Oh, God,” he chokes out. “God. Fuck. What did I do . . . ”

“It wasn’t you, Dean.”

Tears seep from Dean’s eyes. “I—I—I tried to kill you!” Dean sobs.

“No, not you. Lucifer.”

Dean’s eyes dart around the tent. “Where the fuck is that son of a bitch?”

Light flashes, blanketing everything in the darkness of white. When Castiel’s vision clears, he watches as Dean swallows.

“I felt something . . . it . . . he took my soul, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck. How could I let him do that?”

“You didn’t let him do anything, Dean. Lucifer . . . he’s too powerful. You couldn’t resist.”

“I should’ve been stronger.”

Castiel sighs. “That’s not how it works, Dean.”

Someone bursts into the tent, and Dean’s and Castiel’s heads swivel to face the new arrival. It’s Rachel, covered in blood.

“We killed him,” she gasps.

“Killed who?” Dean asks.

“Lucifer.”

“How . . . ” Castiel begins. How did she become involved? They hadn’t informed her of the latest developments.

“Sam told Samandriel and me about it. We devised a back-up plan in the event that he escaped you two.”

“If Sam told you, who was watching Ion?” Castiel inquires.

“Oh, please. All he needed were Eden steel handcuffs and holy fire. Ion is as securely restrained as any of the other angels.” She studies Castiel and Dean. “Sam said he resented your, as he put it, ‘bullshit excuse to leave him out.’”

“What was that light?” Castiel questions.

“The souls returning to their owners.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Dean says softly, voice trembling.

“We need to get you healed,” Rachel tells Castiel. “Wait here. I’ll get Samandriel to retrieve the cream.” She grimaces. “And I need to clean up.”

Thank goodness the ordeal is over. They’ve won. Now they can march to Lawrence, where Castiel will confront Mother with what he’s learned about Inias Grace.

Cas claims that he forgives Dean, but Dean knows that his actions are unforgivable.

He refuses to spend time alone with Cas. No matter how much Cas insists Dean did nothing wrong, he can’t face him. He tried to _kill_ him, for chrissake.

Dean moves his things to Sam’s tent. After the souls were released, Lucifer’s demons, including Ruby, fled. Many of the enslaved humans returned to their homes, though quite a few elected to stay and augment their army instead. Without Lucifer’s heft, confronting Raphael will be harder, but they can do it. First, they need a stronghold from which to fortify themselves—and Lawrence, as the nearest town, is the natural choice. Whether it’ll surrender before Raphael arrives is a crapshoot, but it’s worth a shot.

Sam steps down from his part in the rebel leadership, and Dean participates less, too. Charlie and Benny urge them to return, but Dean’s having none of that. Lucifer had controlled him. He can’t be trusted; he’s too weak to stand as firm as a leader needs to.

Sam, on the other hand, is one of the smartest people in the camp. The leadership council could use his input.

But when Dean tells him so, Sam shakes his head. “No. Obviously, my judgment leaves something to be desired.”

“Dude, we’ve all made horrible decisions,” Dean responds.

“Not as bad as this. I loved her so much, Dean. I believed everything she said.”

“So did everyone else.”

“Not you.”

Dean shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe I would’ve if I’d been with you guys the whole time.”

Sam frowns. “Okay. I’ll consider it. But you’ve gotta come back, too.”

“What? No!” Dean scoffs.

Sam glares at him. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You had no control over that.”

“That’s why I can’t be on the damn council.”

“No one could’ve resisted, Dean.”

“Still.” Dean wrings his hands. “I almost killed Cas, Sam.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Only because Rachel and Samandriel broke the pendant.” But something niggles at him . . .

“That’s not what’s important. No one blames you, Dean. Not even Cas.”

“But he should,” Dean mumbles.

Then it hits him.

He didn’t feel his soul slam back into his body until _after_ he’d dropped the sword.

Huh.

Dean rewinds his mind to that night.

Cas kept telling him he didn’t have to do it, Dean had known he must, that he had to rid Seraphim of the rotten traitor, everything in him screaming that he had to eliminate Castiel now, now, now . . .

He realizes that Cas didn’t even fight back, and his heart throbs at the thought.

Okay. So, his brain had been fixated on killing Cas, and he was poised to do it when . . .

 _I love you. Always_.

 _That’s_ what had broken the spell. It sounds like something that would only happen in those fairy tales Mom used to tell him, but there’s no other explanation.

Their connection—their _bond_ —had snapped Lucifer’s hold over him, even when he’d still possessed Dean’s soul.

If this thing between them is truly that strong . . . by avoiding Cas, he’s been hurting him worse than he can imagine.

They’re tied together at some level deeper than the soul, they must be, and so without Dean, Cas’s very essence has been suffering.

He whimpers at the thought.

“Dean?” Sam prompts uncertainly.

“I gotta talk to Cas,” Dean declares before running out of the tent. He finds Cas in his tent, where he’s been resting since that fateful night with Lucifer.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean chokes out when he steps into the tent.

“It’s okay, Dean. It wasn’t you,” Cas repeats for the millionth time.

“No, not about that.” Cas frowns, and Dean giggles hysterically. “No. Yes. I mean, I am sorry about that, too. Obviously. But also for . . . y’know. Ignoring all your requests to come by.” Cas has been sending him the request through Rachel several times a day, and every time he’d refused, she’d narrowed her eyes in disapproval.

“I have missed you very much,” Cas confirms softly.

“Yeah, me, too. Um . . . y’know I love you, right?”

Cas’s expression grows amused. “Yes. And I love you, too.”

Dean perches on Cas’s cot and leans down, planting his lips on the angel’s. The kiss gradually grows heated, and Dean’s hand unthinkingly migrates to Cas’s wing. Cas yelps at the touch, and Dean abruptly draws back. “Sorry,” he murmurs, reddening.

“Just be gentle.”

“Yeah, okay.” They exchange lazy nibbles and kisses.

After a while, Cas pulls back and asks, “Does this mean you’re moving back in?”

“Yeah. If you want,” Dean replies uncertainly.

“I do.”

“Okay. Um. That’s good. So, yeah.” He stands up. “Guess I’ll go get my stuff then.” As he’s about to leave, he remembers something. He turns back to Cas and clears his throat. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but we’re planning to go to Lawrence. Leaving in two days, I think.”

“All right.”

“Will you be able to travel?”

“Yes.” Dean gives him a skeptical look. “You forget that angels heal much more quickly than humans. My recovery won’t be complete, but it’ll be adequate.”

“Awesome.”

“I look forward to Lawrence.”

“Yeah?”

Steeliness takes over Cas’s features. “Mother is going to tell me the truth about Inias Grace.” His expression is resolute, and damn if that doesn’t make Dean think he wouldn’t ever want to fuck with Cas.

When they reach Lawrence after a grueling few-days march, they surround the town and demand the leaders surrender control to them. The council responds that it will treat with only one person—Castiel.

“I’ll do it,” Castiel decides after Sam and Dean review the letter with him.

“Are you sure?” Sam asks. “There’s no telling what could happen, and you’ll have no backup.”

“Tell them no, Sammy,” Dean declares. “We’re not letting Cas walk into a trap.”

Castiel scowls at Dean. “How do you know it’s a trap?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What else could it be?”

“If it were a trap, wouldn’t they wish to speak with a few other people besides me? You and Sam, for instance?’

“He’s got you there,” Sam points out.

“ _Fine_ ,” Dean snips. “But don’t be surprised if I wind up saying I told you so.”

The gates are opened for Castiel, and they slam shut after he steps through them. He strolls down the street until he reaches City Hall. He studies the three-storied marble edifice and swallows.

An elderly human male stands beside the door and beckons with a hand. Castiel follows him to the topmost floor. In the council’s meeting chamber, five angels sit at a varnished oaken table, his mother at the center. She’s been serving as the head of the council for two years now.

Mother turns to her fellow council members. “May I speak to my son alone?” The others eye each other and nod. “Thank you.”

And then Castiel is alone with her.

Mother gestures at a seat in front of the table. “Why don’t you sit down?” Castiel sinks into the chair, wincing as his wings chafe against its back. They burn only occasionally now, but they never stop itching. He rubs one wing against the chair to calm the maddening sensation.

“Stop that,” Mother commands.

“What?” Castiel replies.

“Doing that thing with your wing. Where are your manners?”

As if he cares about manners at the moment. He’s not sure what Mother plans to do, but he has so many questions. How could she torture her own husband? Why had she lied to him about what had happened to his father?

He doesn’t respect her, not now that he knows what she represents. A harsh status quo. Maybe she’s planning to send him down the same path as his father. Maybe she’ll perform mind control experiments on him, too. He can’t help but laugh bitterly at the thought.

Mother narrows her eyes at him. “What is so funny?”

Castiel waves a hand around the room. “All of this. Does it not strike you as absurd?”

Mother frowns. “This is no time for games, Castiel. Do you realize how much of a mess you’ve gotten yourself into?”

Castiel crosses his arms in front of his chest, wincing at how much his muscles ache with the motion. These past few weeks have been trying, to say the least. “The whole country is a mess now, Mother. Surrendering Lawrence to us might actually be your best option.”

Mother snorts. “Why should we put our fate in the hands of a bunch of humans and traitorous angels?”

“Who else is there? President Michael is dead.”

“Raphael will be president soon.”

“We both know Raphael will not be a strong leader.”

“I admit that he doesn’t have nearly the same presence as President Michael, but would the nation really be more effectively run by your ragtag group? I don’t think so.”

“It won’t be just our group, Mother. It’ll be a true democracy. Giving humans and angels equal say in Seraphim’s affairs.”

“Humans do not have the same capacity as angels. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“That’s just an excuse that’s been used to give humans short shrift.”

Mother sighs. “I knew I should have never let you play with that human boy.”

Castiel scowls at her. “He has a name.”

“I suppose we have him to thank for your escapade with the rebels.”

“No. I made my own decision.”

“What you and those rebels want . . . it is not natural, Castiel.”

“As if you have the right to lecture me on what is natural.”

Mother looks askance at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Why did you lie to me about Father?”

Caught off guard, Mother gawks at him. But she soon regains her composure. “I assure you I have no idea what you are referring to.”

Castiel sneers. “Stop it, Mother. I know he was sent to the Bottoms. And _you_ . . . you experimented on him.”

“Why would you think that?” Mother replies. Even though her tone is unruffled, Castiel detects panic in the way her words slur together.

“Someone told me.”

“A liar.”

Castiel uncrosses his arms and clasps his hands in his lap. “Are you calling General Zachariah a liar?”

“Zachariah told you that?”

“Yes.”

Mother hangs her head. “I wish he hadn’t.”

“Of course you do,” Castiel responds derisively. “Is he still alive? Are you still . . . experimenting on him?” Castiel’s voice shakes with the question. Zachariah had claimed his father was dead, but perhaps he’d been lying. What if Inias Grace has been suffering for these past twenty-six years? The thought is too much to bear.

“No,” Mother answers quietly. “He died a few months after he was imprisoned in the Bottoms.”

“How could you do that to him?”

“How could I not?”

Castiel glowers at her. “You cannot be serious.” Mother gapes at him, speechless for perhaps the first time in her life. “What was his supposed crime, anyway?”

“I do not know,” Mother squeaks.

Castiel stares at her. “You experimented on him and you don’t even know _why_?”

“I was ordered to.”

“You were just following orders. Superb defense, Mother.”

“What do you think would’ve happened to me if I had disobeyed? I would’ve been experimented on, too.”

“So you are a coward.” Castiel inwardly flinches at the words as they fly from his mouth. He is a hypocrite; after all, before Dean had returned to him, hadn’t he also followed the status quo because he was petrified of punishment?

“I had more than myself to think of,” Mother argues. “You had just been born. You’d already lost one parent . . . what was I to do?” Mother’s voice remains calm, but tears now leak down her cheeks. The only other time he’s seen her display so much emotion was when she’d insisted Castiel must sever ties with Dean.

As a child, he’d grown close to his human family, Mary, Dean, and Sam, partially because he could emotionally bond with them. Mother, with her clinical detachment, had seemed devoid of feelings. She’d taught him that there was no place for emotion amongst angels, that it could get one into trouble. That angels were solely rational creatures, that having emotions made him defective.

Through his recent experiences, he’s learned that Mother had been wrong. Angels do experience emotions, but they hide them in order to fit in.

And now Mother proves that she is not heartless, either.

“I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven for what I did to him,” Mother continues, “but I hated every second of it. Hated myself for doing it. Each day, I thought I might refuse to participate. But then I thought of you, alone in the world, and I couldn’t give up . . . ” Mother wipes her cheeks. “I wound up killing him. They thought the experiments had done it . . . ” Mother lowers her voice to a whisper. “But I poisoned him. I had to stop the suffering.”

Castiel’s eyes water. “And this . . . ” he sobs. He clears his throat and steadies his voice. “This is a government you wish to keep in power?”

“I know it’s not perfect, but what else is there?”

“Do you really think it’s better than letting humans and angels coexist as equal participants in a democracy?”

“They can never be equals when angels are superior.”

“Stop it, Mother,” Castiel fumes. “You have seen how smart Sam is. How resourceful Dean is. And I know you valued Mary’s wisdom, even if you tried to act like you weren’t friends.”

After a drawn-out pause, Mother sighs. “I suppose that is true. I never realized.”

“And there are other humans who are just as wonderful as the Winchesters.” Mother opens her mouth to protest, but Castiel doesn’t let her speak. “Inferior humans exist, too, but so do inferior angels. Remember when you used to complain about all the incompetence in City Hall?”

Mother smiles ruefully. “I see your point.” She pauses. “But do you really expect me to hand Lawrence over to you and your rebels, Castiel? Once Raphael has taken office, he’ll rip you to shreds. Rip us to shreds.”

“We can fight him.”

“Do you really think you stand a chance against him?”

“We defeated Lucifer, Mother.”

“Yes.” Mother reflects for a moment. “You know what? I’m not sure if your democracy will work, but perhaps it deserves a shot. The city is yours.”

Castiel stares at her, aghast. Would she really give up the city without a fight? “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Castiel takes some time to wrap his head around the latest development before he responds. “What about the other council members?”

Mother waves a dismissive hand. “Spineless, the lot of them. They’ll do anything I say.”

Castiel feels his lips form a smile. “Mother, I . . . Thank you.”

Mother slides an object across the table. “A key to the gate. When you leave, you may unlock it and let your compatriots inside.” Castiel nods. He’s about to stand up when Mother adds, “Before you go, one more thing.”

“Yes?” Castiel freezes. He should’ve known there would be a catch.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Castiel almost chokes on his own breath. “Who?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“What . . . How . . . ?” Castiel stammers.

Mother flashes a mysterious grin. “I recognize the look of love. Once upon a time, I saw it in the mirror every day.”

Castiel jumps to his feet. “Yes. I do love him.”

Mother follows suit. “I wish you well. I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can.”

Before he can process his actions, Castiel dashes toward her and envelops her in a hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into her ear before pecking her on the cheek.

A guard escorts him back to the city gate, which he throws open. The rebels and remaining angels are gathered on the other side. They all seem hesitant to step forward. After a minute, Dean crosses the threshold.

“How’d it go?” Dean asks.

Castiel can’t stop beaming. “The city is ours.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Castiel confirms softly.

Cheering erupts behind Dean. Dean grasps Castiel’s shoulders and kisses him, tongue darting inside to explore his mouth. Castiel’s wings instinctively wrap around Dean. A few catcalls emanate from behind the human.

Dean pulls back, and Castiel admires his flushed cheeks. “So. What now?” Dean ventures.

“We prepare to defend what is ours.”

No doubt Raphael will be a formidable opponent, but Castiel is confident that he, Dean, and their alliance of angels and humans, working together, can stand their ground. After Lucifer had been killed, the rebels had released the angel prisoners. A few of them have already been converted to the cause. Raphael does not possess President Michael’s charisma, and the promise of change is attractive to many.

The future will not be easy, but the bond with Dean lends him strength. As long as they have each other, they will find a way to triumph.


End file.
